The Price of Magic
by heartsways
Summary: Regina has returned to Fairy Tale Land along with Snow, Emma, Henry and everyone else who lived in Storybrooke. But nothing is ever quite as simple as expected, nor is it as safe as they may think...
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Price Of Magic  
**Author: **heartsways  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Fandom: **Once Upon A Time  
**Pairing:** Regina/Emma  
**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.  
**Summary: **Third installment of the story that began with "Fragments Of A Life Less Lived" and continued with "All You've Ever Known". Everyone's returned to Fairy Tale Land and it's not as much of a happy ending as they thought…  
**Author's Note:** You can find me on twitter: heartsways or on tumblr

Part 1

Emma opened her eyes and turned over. The lumpy mattress beneath her elicited a faint groan from her lips and she reached up, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. It was bright in the bedroom - or 'chambers' as Regina liked to call it – and she blinked hard a couple of times before her eyes adjusted to the light, squinting a little under its glare.

Reaching out across the bed, her arm slid over an empty expanse. The sheets were cold, exposed to the chill in the air by blankets and furs that had been shoved back. That alone was enough to stir Emma into waking up properly and she frowned, struggling up into a sitting position and pushing at her hair.

Her gaze swept around the room, taking in the detritus of clothing she'd left last night in a trail leading from the doorway to their bed. She scowled at the breeches Regina had given her; they were still stiff and new and, Emma glared at them, still uncomfortable, too. The lone pair of jeans she'd brought with her were stored away like some precious artifact. Emma had promised herself that she would only wear them on special occasions – quite what those occasions would be, she had no idea. But she guarded them fiercely, even if she missed wearing them every single day.

Things were different now. _Everything_ was different. The other world – the only one she'd ever known – was gone. Or, at least, they were gone from _it_. Everyone was still trying to figure out exactly what had happened while caught in a pretense of returning to their old lives. After only a few weeks, it was starting to feel like Storybrooke _was_ their old life.

Looking across the room, Emma blinked rapidly at the open window. The early morning sunlight was pouring in, bathing the figure standing in front of it with the shining, golden warmth of a promising new day. At first, Emma could only see the figure in silhouette: a dark shape with long hair, face upturned to let the light wash over it. But as her eyes became accustomed to the light, Regina came into colorful focus.

She was wearing a fur-lined cloak, arms wrapped around her torso underneath it. Her eyes were closed, a faint smile playing over her lips. But Regina knew that Emma was awake without even looking back at the bed. She _felt_ it. Ever since they'd returned here, Regina knew that her magic was coming back. At first it had been little things: a tingle at the end of her fingers, the barest movement of a chess piece on a board without touching it. But it was there, still inside, a part of her that she'd learned to live without. And now it was waking; twitching and rolling and tingling through her veins.

It had made her achingly sensitive to Emma, to her presence and her power. Emma's magic was chaotic, uncontrolled and the blonde did her level best to tamp down on it and will it away. But Regina felt like she could sometimes see it, flowing around and through Emma's form like smoke in the atmosphere.

She could feel Emma like the sunlight on her skin, almost taste her in the air she breathed. Whatever magic had awoken in Emma called to Regina with its undiluted strength and she could feel it reach for her with tendrils of the power she used to wield.

As Emma's chin rested lightly on her shoulder, Regina opened her eyes, staring out of the window across the land she used to reign over.

"Surveying your kingdom, your Majesty?" Emma murmured, her breath tickling Regina's neck.

She looked over Regina's shoulder at the hills beyond, covered in tendrils of an early morning mist. They fell away from the castle walls, hurtling down towards a valley where a lake stretched through deep ravines between mountains that rose up in the distance. Emma had never seen anything like it. Everything about the land was verdant and lush, steeped in a humming sensation that Regina had told her was magic. Even if she wasn't sure she believed Regina, Emma secretly thought that only something like magic could make the realm so richly beautiful.

Regina shifted, taking a tiny step back so that she bumped up against Emma's body. Letting out an amused breath, Emma slid her arms around Regina's waist and tugged the other woman closer. Turning her head, she pressed a soft kiss onto Regina's neck and was gratified by the sigh that it elicited.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Regina's voice was hushed, a note of genuine affection and awe roughening her words.

Emma kissed Regina's neck again, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of the other woman. "Mm, it sure is," she grinned.

"Really, dear," Regina tutted disapprovingly, but her hands crept down to cover Emma's.

"Seriously, learn to take a compliment," Emma smiled.

"They happen so rarely I'm generally in too much shock to form a suitable response," Regina shot back dryly.

Emma's arms tightened around her and the blonde let out a soft laugh. "I'm glad **some** things haven't changed since we came here," she murmured. "All this fairytale stuff doesn't alter the fact that you're really not a morning person."

"Nor has it changed your thoroughly flippant attitude towards what you call 'this fairytale stuff'," Regina sighed. She trailed her fingertips across Emma's hands, tracing their strong lines. "And sometimes I'm thankful for that," she added gently.

Emma smiled before it slid from her face in the wake of a shiver that worked its way down her spine. "Come back to bed," she whispered into Regina's ear, before scampering back across the room and plunging under the covers.

Regina closed the window and turned, looking at Emma: golden hair spread across the pillows, long legs sprawled carelessly beneath the covers. It was a tempting prospect, even if she'd lain awake beside Emma for most of the night, rising only when the sun crept over the horizon and pale yellow rays of light slid over the window pane. Not even the comfort of Emma's presence in her bed could stop the doubts and anxieties that churned in Regina's mind; scenarios of what atonement she might offer playing out in a hundred, thousand different ways.

"Stop brooding," Emma called from the bed, jerking Regina from her reverie. "Stop it," Emma chided, shaking her head. "Come back to bed. It's too early to be sad."

Regina stalked across the room, shedding her cloak at the side of the bed and slipping under the covers, allowing Emma to pull them up over her body.

"I'm not sad," she said. Emma propped her head up on one hand and blinked at her disbelievingly. "I'm contemplative," Regina added by means of excuse.

"Ugh," Emma's face crinkled in distaste. "It's too early to be contemplative, too."

Regina's lips curved into a tiny smile and she reached out, rubbing strands of Emma's hair between her fingers. "You are a very bad influence," she intoned.

"So you keep telling me," Emma responded with a grin. Under the covers, her hands snatched at Regina's rather demure nightgown, tugging the other woman closer to her. Regina had taken to wearing it after only a few nights in Fairy Tale Land, claiming it was warm, but to Emma it appeared more like a shroud than anything else.

It bothered her. Because for someone who had made grandiose gestures and parried back and forth with such delight, it was the subtle changes that told her more about Regina's state of mind, in the end.

Regina pressed her face to Emma's shoulder, nestling into the warmth there. Sometimes it felt like they were back in Storybrooke, where things unfolded according to her direction. Where she always knew what would happen next because it always happened to her design. Without her even realizing, that control had become her comfort zone.

Then Emma Swan had come to town and Regina had lost control, most of all that over her own self. And the things that had grown familiar now seemed very far away, lost in a land that they'd abandoned; that the breaking of the curse had ripped away from them.

And nobody, but especially not Regina, could quite settle back into the existence she'd spurned.

"I promised Henry I'd take him riding later," Emma said blithely, arm curling around Regina's shoulders.

A muffled bark of laughter vibrated against her shoulder before Regina lifted her head and looked incredulously down at the blonde.

"You?" she exclaimed. "Taking him riding?"

"Hey," Emma frowned over the faint blushes on her cheeks. "I can ride."

"Hm." Regina lay back on the bed, closing her eyes and reveling in the strength of Emma's touch, how it would always churn in her stomach and remind her that there were powers on this earth far greater than her own.

"I'm not entirely certain that clinging desperately to the reins of a horse constitutes riding," she commented dryly.

That remark earned her a dig in the ribs and brought a laughing smile to her lips as she looked up at Emma, looming over her.

"I don't hear **you** complaining when I'm clinging desperately to **your** reins," Emma murmured, trying to look aggrieved and failing miserably.

"So crass," Regina said, pursing her lips and trailing her fingers through Emma's hair. "You're a princess now, Emma. You might at least try and talk like one."

Emma puffed out her cheeks and sighed loudly, flopping onto her back. "I didn't ask to be a princess and I sure wasn't raised to be one, either."

"Which is why your…why Snow White wants you to undergo the proper training and – "

"See," Emma turned, her face inches from Regina's on the pillows, "**you** call it training and yet it kinda sounds like school. And I wasn't exactly an A grade student the first time around, if you know what I mean." Her tone was light but Regina could see how Emma's eyes darkened, the green in them deepening as worry flickered through it.

Emma had found purpose in Storybrooke; for the first time in her life, she'd shouldered responsibility and not run from it, however much she wanted to. But in this world, in this new role that had been apportioned to her, she was unsure quite what her purpose was. In Storybrooke, she'd been an outsider, then Sheriff, then Savior.

Here, Emma wasn't sure what or who she was anymore. The only thing she was certain of was that her love for Regina and Henry was more than a feeling. It was a palpable, tangible reality that she clung to as everything else that had ever seemed irrefutable fell away.

"It's your birthright," Regina said, her tone sounding much harder than she'd intended. Pressing her lips together, she silently remonstrated with herself. Emma had been destined for something much greater than her own sense of comfort; Regina had too. It was one of the things that connected them the most – their pasts were fractured, ruined by a hand stronger than their own; a hand that had promised them to a future fashioned by another long before they were even born.

Emma pulled her arm from underneath Regina's body, folding it over her chest and staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

"Yeah, well maybe it's too late to do anything about that now," Emma muttered, kicking aimlessly at the bedsheets.

"I'm afraid you're talking to the wrong person about that. If I've learned anything lately, then it's that the prospect of it being too late to change simply doesn't exist."

Emma turned her head on the pillow, directing a well-aimed glare at Regina, but the other woman merely smiled beatifically under its shadow.

"I spent decades trying to prevent change, and then came Henry, then you." Regina reached under the covers for Emma's hand and grasped it tightly. "And you broke the curse, restored everyone's memories and became the Savior you were always meant to be."

"Well…yeah, but – "

"No, Emma." Regina gripped Emma's hand with a terse note of desperation. "Don't you understand? You and Henry…you **changed** me, after decades where I thought I could **never** be happy, you changed me."

She paused, lips trembling so much that she pressed them together in a firm line. Regina had tried to arrest time, lengthening her pain into a never-ending moment of hurt. Everyone else's memories were obliterated, while her own roiled inside her head, as deadly and threatening as her own blistered feelings.

The entire world had changed for all those she'd cursed. But Regina carried their forgotten lives in her head, memories of a life in which she'd endured horrors that simply wouldn't go away, no matter how much she wished they would.

But no fairy godmother had come to her aid, not in Storybrooke and _certainly_ not here, in Fairy Tale Land.

It had occurred to her that the only thing that hadn't changed was her. In all that time, she'd remained exactly the same: broken, alone, desperately unhappy.

"You're the Savior, Emma," Regina whispered, her hand moving up Emma's body to cup her cheek. "You're **my** savior."

A tiny smile quirked the corner of Emma's mouth before she blinked at Regina, the gravity of her words finally washing over the blonde. Comprehension brought with it tears that glistened in Emma's eyes and she laid her hand over Regina's, pressing it against her face for a fleeting moment.

Letting out a shaky laugh, Emma shook her head, holding Regina's fingers in her own and toying with them absent-mindedly.

"You know, for an Evil Queen, you kinda suck," she said, grinning widely.

"Dear, weren't you listening?" Regina's eyebrows rose. "I told you I'd changed."

"I know," Emma brought Regina's fingers to her mouth and kissed them lightly. "You're not the woman you were. No more evil. No more queen."

"Well," Regina said slowly, "no more queen, at least." A broad smirk crossed over her lips and she turned her head, catching Emma's startled gaze. _There_, Regina thought, as a shiver of electricity passed down her spine. _Magic. _ But the truest kind there was. The truest kind this world had ever known.

In a trice, Emma flipped herself over, grabbing Regina's arms by the wrists and pinning them to the pillow above her head. Under the bedclothes, Emma moved until she was straddling Regina's hips, leaning down over wide brown eyes that were far too innocent to fool the blonde.

Regina wasn't even trying to struggle, Emma noticed. She couldn't help the smile that slid across her mouth and, bending her head, she captured Regina's lips in a firm kiss. The groan of gratification that resonated in Regina's throat made Emma push down with her hips at the same time Regina's rose to meet them.

Emma's teeth bit down on Regina's lower lip, a little too hard, a little too insistent. But Regina only gasped at the sudden pain and pushed upwards, straining against Emma's grip on her wrists, chuckling deep in her throat.

"You **are** evil," Emma hissed, the tip of her tongue flicking over Regina's lip, still bearing the indentations of her teeth.

Regina chuckled. "Perhaps just a little."

She thrust up with her hips and Emma moaned, leaning down. "Or a lot," she murmured.

Even as Emma's lips pressed against her own once more, and Regina felt herself being swayed by desire, she turned her head to one side.

"Emma…dear…we don't really have time for this – "

"We'll **make** time," Emma insisted, voice muffled against Regina's neck where she was lathing lines of want up and down her throat. "Or I'll be late…whatever."

"Your mother won't appreciate tardiness."

Emma's head shot up and she stared at Regina with horror widening her eyes.

"Nor will the High Council," Regina added contritely.

Scrambling off Regina, Emma threw herself back onto the bed and let out a grating sigh. "Jesus, Regina," she grumbled. "When I meant you were evil, I meant sexy naughty evil, not mentioning my mother evil."

"It was the only way I could think of to make you stop," Regina said adroitly.

"Right." Emma drew the word out dubiously. She was silent for a moment, chewing on her lower lip before she threw up her hands and let out an aggrieved noise.

"The High Council, though? It's basically just a bunch of old guys who think they know what they're doing. I've never even **seen** half of them before. I mean, I was the Sheriff and I don't recognize them at all. And I'm pretty sure they think I'm just this silly girl," she waved her hand in the air, mouth turning down, "who hasn't a clue about how to run a kingdom or…or…whatever it is I'm supposed to do!"

She paused in her tirade, brows furrowing before she turned to Regina in dismay. "And you know what? They're right. I have **no** idea what I'm doing here."

"Which is why you must involve yourself in palace concerns." As Emma opened her mouth to protest, Regina leaned up in the bed, looking down into woeful features.

"It's also why you need to continue your training in magic," Regina said.

"Listen," Emma said grumpily, "I don't where that came from and I kinda wish it hadn't, but it doesn't mean I've got all this…this power inside me or anything."

Regina lifted her hand, stroking it down the side of Emma's face. "Oh, believe me," she breathed, her fingertips tingling from the contact, "you **have**. I can **feel** it, Emma. It's wonderful."

There was something about Regina's eyes, something about the wonder in her voice and the hushed tone that swept over Emma like a seductive caress. Emma wasn't sure what it was; something that moved her and woke all her senses whilst carrying the vaguest hint of a threat. It was so very much how Regina used to be, when secrets lay beneath every touch, every word, every whispered platitude in the bedroom.

Gazing up at Regina, Emma saw greed flicker in shades of brown: a hungry want that would never dissipate. And she loved it; loved Regina for it; had fallen in love with her because of it. While others lived, Regina wanted. In the wanting of a life, she'd isolated herself from ever having one.

And now, everything had changed, Emma thought. Because Regina only wanted her and Henry – so much and with every part of her that there was nothing left to feel the envy that had spurred her on for so many years.

"How about…" Emma began slowly, "I go to the stupid council meeting and maybe you can come riding with me and Henry? You can show me how this magic thing works, if you like?" Her face scrunched into a hopeful expression and Regina smiled in reprove, letting out a sigh.

"I'm not allowed out of the palace unless it's under strict instruction from the Queen, remember?" she reminded Emma, turning and lying back on the bed. On long, successive days when Emma and Henry travelled to Snow's castle and stayed there, glimpses of her land from the window were the only taste of outdoors that Regina got. But she intended to keep her word to Snow, made in the newness of their life here.

"You mean the Queen who's my mother?" Emma nudged Regina in the side and rolled over to face the other woman. "If I can square it with her, then will you come? Please? You can show me some magic tricks."

"Learning to use your powers is hardly the same as pulling a rabbit out of a hat," Regina's lips formed hard lines of rebuke, but even as Emma sighed impatiently, she felt herself faltering. With the right tuition, a skilled hand with which to guide her, there was no telling how great Emma's magic could be. Just like her own had been, Regina reminded herself with not a little fear. Her own magic had been learned through desperate rage, the desire to punish and control and cause suffering in an attempt at retribution.

And even if Regina longed to feel that power again, she simply wasn't sure if she could trust herself not to try and take it, surrender to it and abuse it.

"Doesn't Snow have a line of sorcerers ready to teach you how to use your magic?" Regina asked, her voice tremulous.

"They don't know me like you do," Emma said beseechingly. "And I just…"

She trailed off miserably as Regina frowned. "You just what?"

"I just wanna spend some time with you and Henry. It's like, the one normal thing I get to do." Shifting slightly, Emma rested her head onto her hand and shrugged a little. "I don't want **everything** to change, you know? Not all at once. It's…it's too much."

Concern etched hard lines across her brow. If she was honest with herself, then she was already adrift in this world. Henry and Regina were her only touchstones with a reality that, Emma was learning, simply had to be forgotten.

"If you get Snow's blessing, then yes," Regina said gently. "But **only** if you do, Emma. She's trying to forgive me for taking you away from her once. I don't think she would be quite so understanding a second time."

"Fine," Emma grumbled. "I don't know why you're forcing me to go to the council meetings anyway. You know they're planning your sentence, don't you?"

"Yes," Regina said curtly, turning away. "I know. And that's precisely why you must go."

She looked back at Emma, her face drawn and pale. "They will want retribution."

They'd discussed it many times since returning to Fairy Tale Land; the shadow of Regina's punishment still hung over their heads, despite Henry's optimism that the rulers of this world might be forgiving. Regina knew otherwise, though. It was only by virtue of the fact that she'd saved Henry's life at the old mine that Snow was being lenient. Charming had come around a little, but the general feeling of resentment and abject hatred towards her was sometimes overwhelming. She'd been called to Snow's palace, just once, and the feeling had smothered her, heavy with dark intent.

In the past, she had been merciless in her reign. Those who had stared at her as she entered Snow's palace, their faces contorted in disgust and rage, had cowered before her in fear. But now that they remembered everything – two lives in which Regina had ruled over them all – those twin sets of memories only intensified their hatred.

"I won't let them hurt you," Emma said bluntly, putting her hand onto Regina's shoulder.

"You may not be presented with that choice," Regina said pensively.

"Yeah, well, I'm a princess now," Emma commented. "And the Savior. Figure that job has to have some perks, right?"

"Indeed," Regina murmured, as Emma's arms encircled her once more, the other woman's body pressing up behind her own. "Which you won't get to enjoy if you don't attend the meetings."

Emma huffed out a disconsolate sigh. "I hate it when you're right."

"I know, dear." Regina couldn't resist the rather smug smile that spread over her lips. "But if you're planning on attending in a timely fashion, you really do need to put some clothes on."

Grunting, Emma reluctantly slid her arms from around Regina. "Two hours in a rickety carriage," she sighed. "Someone needs to invent cars or something."

"You ride in a carriage because you're nobility," Regina stated, turning in the bed as Emma pushed back the covers and planted her feet onto the rug-covered floor. "It's the proper way for you to travel."

"It sucks," Emma threw over her shoulder as she stretched her arms up over her head.

"It creates the right impression," Regina corrected her.

"Whatever," Emma mumbled, pulling her tank top up over her head, revealing the muscular expanse of her back. Regina could barely resist reaching out and running her fingers over it; she loved the texture of Emma's skin. There were scars there too, distant reminders of the sort of life Emma had lived before she'd come to Storybrooke. Regina loved it all: the unmistakable power and the stark contrast of Emma's mortality.

Shucking on a linen shirt, Emma grabbed her breeches from the floor and hopped into them, fastening them around her waist. She looked for all the world like her mother used to, Regina thought with a pang of alarm, when Snow had lived in the woods and learned to be a fighter, defending herself against all the evils in Fairy Tale Land that sought to tear her down.

And that was the thing about royal blood; it coursed through Emma's veins whether she wanted it to or not. It elevated her above everyone else; it gave her advantages that she simply couldn't comprehend. Nor wanted to. Emma had grown up in an egalitarian society, where one's worth was judged by materialism and the accruing of wealth. Here, it was handed to her by virtue of her birth. Regina had come to realize that it didn't sit well with the blonde, much less was welcomed by her.

"These pants are itchy," Emma complained, tugging at the breeches that, Regina had to admit, suited Emma rather well. She sat up in the bed, looking Emma up and down with an amused gaze.

"You sound like Henry," Regina said. "They'll wear in. Give it time."

"Like I have a choice," Emma huffed, pulling on the leather jacket that she refused to give up no matter how incongruous it appeared in this world. She sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on her boots, reaching for their laces and tugging them tight.

"You'll be careful, won't you?"

Emma turned, almost surprised at the level of concern in Regina's voice. Their eyes met and Emma nodded lightly before a satisfied grin parted her lips.

"Of course I'll be careful," she told Regina. "I'm the Savior and a princess. They love me here. I'm like…everyone's favorite quarterback or something."

The reference was clearly lost on Regina, who blinked at her, nonplussed. Emma rolled her eyes and leaned forwards, pressing her lips to the other woman's in a gentle kiss.

"Everything's going to be fine," she whispered. "You'll see."

It was only after she'd left the room that Regina sank back onto the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes and letting out a long, protracted sigh. Nothing about this was 'fine'. Nothing about it was _remotely_ close to fine. Emma had very little understanding of the way this world worked, and she clearly hadn't paid much attention to fairytales, either. They always ended the same way: the triumph of good over evil. And even in the less saccharin tales that Regina knew of, the only way to vanquish evil – the _just_ way – was to obliterate it completely, with sword or magic or true love's kiss.

Emma liked to insist that Regina had saved Henry's life. In her view, that was more than recompense enough to show contrition.

But Regina knew that one selfless act couldn't possibly expunge all the other terrible things she'd done. It couldn't bring back her father; it couldn't remove the memories of what had been a better life for some, if not all the citizens of Fairy Tale Land. Even in the prison of her castle, Regina had heard rumblings of dissent, how the dwarves were rebelling against their servitude, how societal layers that had previously kept everyone in their place were crumbling.

If she'd never enacted the curse; if she'd never been compelled to destroy this world and build a new one wrought from her pain and suffering, then none of this would have ever happened.

And she would never have had Henry or Emma in her life.

There was a part of Regina that refused to be sorry because of that. And even if it was dwindling as the days and weeks progressed, Regina knew that she clung to it – to them – quite desperately in the knowledge that her own penitence and the sentence that was to be laid on her shoulders was indeed the price of magic to be paid.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Emma's stride lengthened as she made her way towards the War Room. The sword that her parents had insisted she wear bumped against her side and she laid her hand onto the hilt, stilling its movement. She preferred the feel of her gun, snugly holstered beneath her jacket, a reliable companion and a trusted deterrent. But such things didn't exist here; even if they did, Emma knew that they simply wouldn't be permissible under Snow's reign.

Since returning to Fairy Tale Land, Snow had decreed a time of peace. Taking up her rightful position on the throne of the realm with Charming by her side as Royal Consort, Snow finally become the woman quelled by her incarnation as Mary Margaret Blanchard. Snow meted out a quiet authority that overwhelmed any traces of the timid schoolteacher she'd once been. But her rule over the Enchanted Forest and beyond was typified by the compassion and inherent care that had always been part of her life in Storybrooke.

The weeks following their return to this land had been fraught with confusion, spreading throughout the realm like a cancer, laying waste to the defined class system that had kept everyone resolutely in their place. What had been adhered to was no longer true, and Snow had risen to the challenge, travelling through her kingdom and meeting the most unruly subjects with a calm yet firm demeanor.

Emma had to admit, she was kind of impressed.

Pushing open the heavy oak door, she walked into the War Room and stopped just inside, the door closing loudly behind her. Heads turned and she shifted slightly under the gazes directed towards her. Emma didn't much like being the center of attention; she never had. But she squared her shoulders anyway and looked past the other members of the Council towards Snow. Her mother.

Snow rose from the table and walked towards Emma, her smile as warm as the other faces in the room were stony and cold. Sliding her arms around Emma, Snow embraced her daughter.

"It's good to see you," she murmured.

Uncomfortable, Emma returned the hug with awkward arms and looked over her mother's shoulder to where Charming was smiling broadly at her. She'd only just become accustomed to having Mary Margaret as a friend and confidante; the jump to acknowledging both her and David Nolan as parents was a step she was barely ready to take.

But then, ever since she'd first set foot in Storybrooke, Emma had found herself forced to do a lot of things she never thought she would. Or could.

"Apart from you and my…Charming," Emma responded, the name on her tongue resting there like a foreign language, "everyone else looks pissed."

Turning, Snow slid her arm through Emma's and led her back to the huge round table, gesturing towards the seat next to her own.

"They're the closest thing we have to government in this land," she whispered. "They always look that way."

There was a faint smile still on her lips as she sat down, but Emma noticed how it barely reached Snow's eyes. Her own features wrinkled into a frown as she took her seat and glanced around the table. Half of these people she didn't recognize at all – Regina had once told her that Storybrooke was bigger than she imagined and it certainly seemed true as blank faces stared back at her. Of the people she did know: they looked at her with wary eyes and Emma knew that her association and defense of Regina was something that they were still coming to terms with. To them, it must seem like a betrayal of all she stood for, all she'd done.

"Your Highness." A dour-faced elderly man to Snow's left inclined his head towards Emma, but his words seemed forced and she avoided his gaze, sighing a little to herself. She'd been called many things in her life, but a salutation of royalty didn't sit well with her.

"Can we get on with this?" she asked curtly. "I promised my son I'd spend some time with him later today."

"How is Henry?" From across the table, Ruby leaned forwards and offered Emma a genuine smile of enquiry. Returning it, Emma shrugged and heard the tiny breath of a sigh from Snow, next to her.

"He's fine," she said, not wanting to be drawn any further in front of the Council.

A few seats down from Ruby – _Red_, Emma reminded herself silently – a loud snort came from a heavyset man whom Emma was sure used to run one of the shops on Main Street. He glared at Emma and jutted out his chin, lips pressing together in a disapproving expression.

"He lives with that…that _woman_," he spat. "I don't see how that constitutes to his wellbeing whatsoever."

"Yeah?" Emma leaned forwards over the table, hands laid flat on its polished wooden surface. "I live with that woman too. Are you concerned about **my** wellbeing?"

"Emma…" her father began in a low tone.

"No," she said adroitly, turning to him. "Don't. There's nothing you can say…nothing **any** of you can say that I haven't heard before. So let's just get on with this meeting and try to avoid any commentary on my personal life, okay?"

Charming gave a deep sigh, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of his face for a moment. His daughter had inherited her mother's sense of righteous indignation when threatened and, although it was a trait that had served Snow well, he wasn't entirely sure that it would benefit Emma in this instance. He'd struggled with the memories that had flooded back when Regina's curse had been broken. They had crashed over him like a tsunami, a force of nature that he simply couldn't keep at bay. And in the backwash that had threatened to suck him under, he had turned to the one immutable truth in his life – in both of his lives: his love for Snow.

He turned to her now and she glanced at him, reaching underneath the table to pat at his leg.

"We all just want to do what's best," Snow said, her voice holding a note of authority that silenced any retort Emma might have had. "And that's why the Council has convened; we're here to pass sentence on Regina, not to criticize Emma."

"I can't help thinking they're the same thing." Finding her voice at last, Emma spoke up and Snow turned to her with an aggrieved expression coloring her features.

"I know, I know," Emma grunted, throwing up her hands and slumping back in her chair. "She's the one who caused all of this. But can you honestly say – can **any** of you say that you don't miss your old life? The one she created for you?"

Silence roared in her ears for a minute and she sat up again, her gaze tracking around the table, resting momentarily on each face turned towards her. No protest was offered, no refute of the suggestion that hung in the air over the huge table.

"Yeah," Emma nodded to herself. "I thought not."

XxxXxx

Henry was sitting crosslegged when Regina found him. He'd borrowed another book from Regina's vast library and his nose was buried so deep in it that he didn't hear her approach. A light breeze ruffled his hair as he sat a little closer to the edge of the stone balcony than Regina would have liked. Not far from where he sat was a sheer drop, the castle providing the pinnacle of the great mountain on which it rested.

As she drew near to Henry, Regina's attention was taken by the trees planted in tiny, walled gardens.

One tree was missing.

Its absence weighed heavily on Regina's shoulders and she paused for a moment, surveying the empty patch of dirt inside a circle of white brick. She'd been forced to leave many things behind when she had first come here as queen. But not her tree. It was the one thing she couldn't live without; her freedom, providing scant moments of happiness throughout the years she'd suffered as Leopold's wife.

Her tree had grown in the orchard she'd made for it back in Storybrooke. But it had never really flourished in the same way it had here, where the soil that created it nurtured it into adulthood, even if it was trapped within the castle walls, just like her.

But here was where her tree belonged. _Home_. Regina had half expected to feel something…_anything_ upon their return to Fairy Tale Land; some sort of homecoming or sense of relief that she, too, was where she belonged.

What she'd learned from being held prisoner in this castle once again was that wherever Henry and Emma were, _that_ was her home. And she wanted nothing more than to indulge in that sense of emotional place forever. The tentative relationship she was building with her son nurtured her in the same way that the earth had cherished her precious tree. And Emma…well, Emma was the light that she'd finally learned to accept.

It was why relinquishment had been her only option. Why she had convinced herself that the biggest sacrifice she must make would be to lose her home. To lose _them_. It was the only way to redress the balance she had wrecked.

Henry looked up from his book and blinked, staring at her with an expression on his face that Regina couldn't quite read. He'd begun looking at her differently: gone was the anger that had colored his features, the resentment and not a little fear that was always directed towards her.

Now he looked at her with care, with a gentle scrutiny and a wondering innocence that Regina feared he'd lost altogether. But there was something else there too; something indefinable and warm in its hesitancy. And with all her heart, Regina knew that she'd waited her entire life to feel it.

She smiled, sitting down on the stone wall that circled the empty patch of dirt. Yes; returning here had forced her to turn her back on many things she once held dear. But as her son quirked a grin back at her, Regina knew that some sacrifices were more than worth their cost.

"Enjoying the library?" she asked, gesturing towards the tome open on his lap.

He glanced down at it and shrugged, a careless little gesture. But Regina knew that he rose early in the morning, scurrying down to wander among the shelves of books she'd collected. His desire to know everything about this world hadn't abated since they'd come here; it had only increased. Henry couldn't hide the eagerness that bloomed over his features as he glanced down, lips twisting thoughtfully.

"You have a lot of books on the history of this place," he said. "You didn't hate it here all the time, did you?"

Regina let out a tiny hum and smiled at him again, her gaze wandering past him to the realm that lay beyond. She had owned everything as far as the eye could see, many years ago. She'd owned all the villages that nestled in the dip of the valley; owned the people living in those villages too. But owning something had never really made it hers. Just like owning Henry had never truly made him belong to her in the way she desired. In the way she belonged to him.

"I grew up here," she told him. "I fell in love here. So no, I didn't hate it all the time." The smile on her lips faded a little and she shifted, gathering her dress around her.

Henry frowned, scrambling to his feet and tucking the book underneath his arm. Closing the distance between them, he moved to sit beside Regina, looking up at her with wide, curious eyes.

"Something bad happened to you."

Regina nodded slowly. It was a simplistic explanation of what she'd suffered, of the aching in her heart that wouldn't go away, no matter how much she willed it to. Only, now it had been replaced by a new kind of hurt. Guilt had always been a luxury that Regina couldn't afford, consumed by the rage and disappointment that had typified her life.

Now, she felt as though she couldn't breathe because of it, tightening around her heart with an icy grasp.

"I didn't know," Henry said thoughtfully. "My book…I mean, the book of fairytales didn't tell me anything about that."

Regina smiled kindly at him. "Those stories, Henry, might be based on this world, but all children need to know is that the Evil Queen is evil and that Snow White is good. They're not interested in why."

Henry moved a little closer to Regina, lips twitching over the quite bewildering surge of affection he suddenly felt for her.

"I am," he said quietly, pleadingly.

The note of entreaty in his voice brought tears stinging to the back of Regina's eyes and she blinked them away, averting her gaze and looking out again over the mountains that rose in the distance.

"Maybe someone just needs to tell your story, you know?" His face wrinkled hopefully as he peered up at her. "Then they'd all know why you did it."

Regina gazed down at him, those tears behind her eyes rising again. He was so earnest, so willing to indulge in the fantasy that she'd allowed him to create here; a fantasy in which he could have the family he craved so much.

And she was almost willing to let him. Even it was just for a little while.

Reaching out, she patted his hand and nodded. "A story is only worth telling if people want to hear it," she told him gravely. "Otherwise it's just meaningless words, Henry, and they won't make any sense at all."

He sighed, his shoulders hitching slightly. Regina removed her hand from his and tucked it under a fold of her skirts. Nothing about her life had made much sense until she'd found Emma and Henry. And now her history stretched behind her, so many bad memories of so many bad years that she was willing to indulge in the contentment that had settled upon her. If it was short-lived, then at least she would have known how it felt. And that was all she'd ever wanted, really.

It wasn't power that she craved now, it wasn't revenge, it wasn't victory over her enemies. It was this: the simplicity of being with the ones she loved. Taking in a breath, she let it out again slowly and closed her eyes as Henry's hand touched her arm.

"Mom? I'm sorry."

Regina looked down at Henry, seeing in his eyes the compassion that he'd never found in the other world. And she was sorry, too. Sorry that all of this had come so late; sorry that not even Emma, her shining White Knight, could prevent the desire for retribution. Good over evil: that's how it was in this land. How it had always been, she reminded herself sadly. Snow White might represent everything pure and righteous, but even she wasn't above killing to assert restitution.

"Henry," she said gently, laying her palm on his cheek for a moment. "**You** have nothing to be sorry for, dear."

"I was horrid to you," he admitted dolefully.

Regina let out a laugh, despite herself, tossing back her head and breathing in the crisp air around them. "I was horrid to **everyone**."

"Well, you were evil," Henry said with a nod.

"Indeed I was," Regina murmured. They were such stark concepts for him, separate and distinct from one another. She dearly hoped that he would never understand how unhappiness could bleed into a life and painstakingly remove all the good from it. Sometimes she had considered that she was never meant to be _good_ in the ways that Henry understood it. Perhaps she had been born into darkness and magic, nurtured and coaxed and bullied by her mother into accepting it until it became the only thing that stayed when everyone else was gone.

And any good that _was_ left in her…it ached and thrilled and beat only for the love she felt for her family. Now she leaned on it. It was the only thing that remained when a world without magic had been swept away in clouds of purple smoke.

"You're not…" Henry began, then paused, chewing nervously on his lower lip. As Regina's eyes turned upon him, he forced himself to stare back into them and took a short breath.

"You're not evil anymore, are you? I know that there's magic here. I know you have it. But what happened before with Miss Blanchard…I mean, Snow White. That's not going to happen again is it?"

"I sincerely hope not," Regina leaned towards him, meeting his earnest gaze and sliding a tentative arm around his shoulders. "Yes, I can feel my magic returning, but I think I might be done with using it for a little while."

She squeezed at him, pulling him against her. "I'd never hurt you, Henry. Not again."

"I know," he said, twisting in her embrace and proffering a confident smile. Regina returned it with wonder and he nestled against her, ducking his head.

He sighed heavily. "What do you think's gonna happen?"

For the first time in decades, Regina had no idea. She'd always held Storybrooke in an iron-fisted grip, asserting her will over it. But ever since the town clock had started ticking again, nothing ever seemed to go to plan. At least, not _hers_. And in the weeks that had passed since returning to Fairy Tale Land, nobody seemed willing to state once and for all whether she was to live, or die for her crimes.

"I don't want them to hurt you," he said in a small voice. Leaning away from Regina, Henry looked up at her and his features crumpled into confusion. "I know what you did was wrong and you were bad to people but…but you saved my life. I mean, I used to imagine what it would be like without you and then you almost…we all thought you were…"

He swallowed hard over the sudden lump in his throat. Regina had always told him much he meant to her but he'd never really felt it, or seen it. He wasn't sure he could fully comprehend how she had taken lives or why, but what Henry did understand, quite clearly, was that she would offer up her life for his without a second thought.

Henry had never felt more precious, more loved or more wanted in his entire life.

"I guess," he continued, brow furrowed in thought, "that when I saw what my life would look like without you, I didn't really like it."

"Henry," Regina soothed, lifting a hand and stroking her fingers down his cheek. "It's alright, dear. I'm here now."

"I just…if you tell Snow White that you're sorry, maybe they'll leave you alone. If you are, you know, sorry." He squinted up at her now and she smiled at him, stroking an errant lock of hair from his forehead.

"I **am** sorry," she said in a low voice. "More than you'll ever know. But I'm not sorry for finding you, Henry. And I'm not sorry for loving you. You will remember that, won't you?"

He nodded, his boyish features solemn. Regina smiled and pulled him towards her. She still half-expected him to resist, as he always had. But two reedy arms slid around her waist and the book toppled from where it was perched on the stone wall beside Henry, forgotten.

"About Emma," Henry suddenly said, glancing up at Regina. "I don't know what to call her."

He blushed a little as Regina's eyebrow quirked and she released her grip on him. He shifted on the stone beside her and frowned.

"Call her what she is, Henry," Regina said in an amused tone. "She's your mother."

"I know she is but…I can't call her mom."

"Oh?" Regina leant towards him. "And why's that?"

The boy's mouth worked silently over words that tumbled together on his tongue, almost as disjointed and fractured as the feelings that rose in his chest. Finally, he looked up at Regina and shrugged again, blinking under her enquiring gaze.

"Because **you're** my mom," was all he said.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

The palace was quiet. Regina had sent most of the staff to bed – those loyal to the queen whom Snow had employed specifically to watch her at all times. Under their careful eyes, Regina had become listless, pacing up and down and finally moving from the window to announce that she was retiring to her chambers for the night. She had kept diligent watch for Emma's return until she could no longer see the approach road emerging from the forest's edge.

From behind a book, perched unread on her lap, Regina had lain in her bed, staring at the window until the last vestiges of light disappeared, swallowed by a silent blanket of darkness.

She liked to maintain the routine she'd set for herself in Storybrooke. Routine was all she had now. Every evening, she forced herself to read at least two pages of a book she wasn't interested in, the content not nearly as meaningful as the action itself. But tonight, her concentration wandered, the page blurring under her eyes as she squinted down at it. She missed her reading glasses.

But this wasn't Storybrooke. And any pretense that she'd nurtured there was gone.

Impatiently, Regina sighed and shook her head, pushing the book away. The longer Emma stayed at Snow's castle, the more Regina worried that a lone voice of dissent wasn't nearly enough to assuage all the poison she'd spread. That nothing could _ever_ quite be enough.

The fire in the grate crackled with a vigor that Regina failed to find within herself, and her eyelids became heavy. Her head lolled slightly as sleep briefly overtook her, and she was almost ready to give up on her self-imposed waiting game when her head jerked up on her neck, eyes snapping open.

Emma was back.

Regina could feel her: a dark cloud entering the gates below, thundering along corridors. It carried with it a thrum of magic, uncontained and boiling below the surface, ready to strike with lightning accuracy. Regina felt it vibrate a deep chord inside her and shivered at its onset. Because Emma was angry, and Regina could sense _that_ above all else.

By the time Emma stormed through the door, Regina was gripping her book so tightly that her fingers had turned white. But she stared resolutely down at the page rather than at the figure turning in front of her, muttering and striding angrily across the hearth.

Emma's boots thudded on the stone floor, marking time as she spat half-formed sentences. She fumbled with the belt at her waist, feeling her scabbard bump gently against her legs. But she wanted rid of it; wanted rid of _everything_ that kept her in this world, everything that sought to shape and categorize her.

Her fingers were shaking as she snatched at the buckle, finally tearing the belt apart and holding it up in front of her eyes, glaring at it, hating what it represented. With a frustrated cry, Emma threw the belt, scabbard and sword across the room, where it skidded and scraped over stone.

Panting, Emma wrapped her trembling hands around her sides, clinging to herself and finally turning to look at the figure in the bed. Regina appeared blissfully unaware of the outburst, her eyes never leaving her book. Even now, as Emma stared at her, Regina blinked slowly, deliberately, maddeningly calm.

Emma had seen this before. Hell, she'd been met with this stoicism _far_ more than she cared to remember. Those nights when Regina was pissed with her for any number of reasons; the nights when they had made their apologies in darkly shrouded embraces. When whatever existed between them was tainted with secrets and regret.

Moving forwards a couple of paces, Emma folded her arms over her chest and felt irritation prickle at the back of her neck. She really wasn't in the mood for this.

It was only when she sighed aloud and rolled her eyes that Regina spoke.

"Henry's asleep."

Emma frowned. "What?" she snapped.

"He got tired of waiting for you."

Regina lowered her book and turned in the bed, meeting Emma's gaze. It was the blonde who pulled away first, shaking her head and slumping onto the edge of the bed. She leaned forwards, reaching for her boots and tugging at the laces.

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about," she puffed, letting out a thankful sigh as first one boot came off, then the other.

"You promised to take him riding."

Emma spun around, eyes wide in horror as she stared at Regina.

"Shit," she hissed, realization dawning.

Snapping the book shut, Regina placed it beside the bed. She reached up, pressing her thumb and forefinger to her nose, feeling the sudden heavy atmosphere in the room. It grumbled like the onset of a headache behind her eyes and she squeezed them shut momentarily.

"The meeting ran long…I mean, **really** long. Then my mother…Snow…she insisted I stay to talk and that led to dinner and I haven't really seen her since…anyway, it's been a while. And I just…I forgot. Shit!" Emma punctuated her apologetic, rambling excuses with a single expletive of pure irritation. She thumped at the bed with her fist, biting at her lower lip.

"Was he angry?" she asked, glancing across the bed at Regina.

"Disappointed," came the response in a flat tone. "However, your son is forgiving of your other responsibilities. It seems he understands them far better than either you or I do."

"So you're disappointed too," Emma stated blankly. She watched as the other woman inclined her head a little, neither admitting nor denying the accusation. Not that she had to; Emma could feel Regina's heightened emotions reaching for her across the bed, churning with her own sense of abject defeat.

Sighing heavily, Emma leaned forwards on the bed, resting her elbows onto her knees. The meeting hadn't quite gone to plan and, by the time everyone had trailed from the War Room, it had taken more than a few long minutes for Emma to calm down. Hatred for Regina and what she'd done lingered in the room, assaulting her from all sides so that Emma felt bruised by it. And Snow had lingered too, speaking softly and calmly, putting her hand comfortingly onto Emma's shoulder.

In a way, Emma thought to herself, it had been almost like a seduction: the mother's touch that she'd lived without for so many years, so wanted and so desperately desired that to feel it now was almost like a salve for the wounds that its absence had sliced into her chest. But her eagerness to feel it had been selfish, and she had indulged in it at the expense of Regina and Henry.

Forgetting her son, however briefly, made her feel sick to her stomach. The responsibilities heaped upon her shoulders in this world diverted her from the very reason she'd stayed in Storybrooke; the reason she'd allowed herself to be brought here.

Failure might not be an option, but it loomed behind her as she rubbed a hand wearily over her face.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracked. "I can't…I don't think I can do this."

Pushing the bedclothes to one side, Regina padded around the bed and sat down beside Emma. She didn't touch her, but her close proximity carried an electricity that crawled over Emma's skin, making her look at the other woman askance.

"You can do it," Regina said slowly. "You'll do it because you **have** to, Emma. Because everyone is looking to you for leadership."

"I don't **want** to be a leader!" Emma barked, rising to her feet and pacing towards the fire. She laid a hand on the stone mantle, feeling the heat from the dying embers on her face, warming it a little after the cold night air that had permeated the carriage.

"I didn't ask for any of this, you know," she said. "I didn't ask for it and I sure as hell don't want it. The things they said, Regina…the things I had to just damn well sit there and listen to…"

She turned from the mantle and looked at the woman sitting on the bed, her long nightgown making her look innocent, like a lamb to the slaughter. If she didn't know any better, Emma might have thought that Regina's past was as spotless as the white cotton shift that she wore.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Emma _did_ know better. She knew everything that Regina had done, whether through fairytales or the woman's own confessions. And she also knew that there were no excuses valid enough to paint over her history with a whited sepulcher.

Yet, she still loved Regina. For all the reasons she shouldn't, the fact that she still did remained.

It was as unmovable and undeniable as her love for Henry. And as unexpected, too. But it had become the bedrock of her life, especially here, where _everything_ was foreign and unfamiliar.

She'd be damned if anyone tried to take that away from her.

"They want a sentence of death," she said, her gaze dropping from Regina's form on the bed.

Regina's eyebrows lifted, but she merely nodded before clasping her hands together on her lap, fingers worrying at each other.

"I expected nothing less," she murmured. Her previous life here had been one carved from the stony absence of hope; it seemed darkly ironic that in returning here, Regina knew she would be forced into accepting that existence once more.

"We argued around it for hours. Some people feel like you deserve another chance, that if you were given the sentence of time, then you'd try to make things better. Ruby, and even Granny…they were closer to us in Storybrooke than some of the others, so I guess…"

Emma frowned, shaking her head. It had been difficult for her, listening to some of the council members speak about what had happened. More difficult to listen to what they said about Regina and know that it was true. Without Snow's attempts to bring order to the meeting, she was sure they would have risen from the table and stormed the castle without preamble, seeking to steal Regina from her fortress and carry out a public execution there and then.

"Charming argued your case," she sighed. "He's a good man. Kind. He doesn't think that the death sentence is fair but it **is** the law of the land. And there were a few who sided with him but – "

"But not enough."

Their eyes met and Emma nodded curtly.

"The final decree, of course, will rest with your mother," Regina said. "With Snow White."

"Yeah," Emma said grimly, sliding her leather jacket from her shoulders. "I know."

She sank into one of the huge armchairs by the fire, stretching out her legs towards the yellow, warm glow.

"She's conflicted," Emma finally said. Twisting in the chair, she looked at Regina, still and small on the bed. "That's what she told me. That she's conflicted."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Regina said, almost to herself. "Of all people, she has the most to forgive."

"It's not even about that anymore," Emma's jaw hardened and her fingers curled around the arms of the chair, the wood creaking slightly under her touch.

"I'm not sure I understand." Regina's voice sounded very far away.

Emma gripped the chair harder, a rising anger in her gut roiling hot and acidic in her throat. She'd listened to her mother try to explain, but all she'd come to realize was that this woman wasn't the schoolteacher she'd befriended, the woman who had come to mean so much to her. No; Snow White definitely wasn't Mary Margaret Blanchard. Snow White was as stubborn, quick-tempered and as fiercely defensive of her family as the daughter she had never known.

"She forgave you. For what you did to her, I mean," Emma said in a hard tone. "But here, she's a queen. And she's remembering how that feels. You see, it's not just about **her** anymore. All the people who live here…all those people you cursed too, she **cares** about them."

She glanced back at Regina before shaking her head and turning back to the fire. "She feels responsible for it. Like it's her fault."

A tiny part of Regina – the part that still hurt the most, even after all this time, even after Henry, and after Emma – wanted to say that it _was_. That Snow White, in her charmed existence and her childish wonts, had started all of this. But there was a bigger part of her, one that Regina was still only learning to quantify and accept. And that part existed _because_ of Henry,_ because_ of Emma. It quelled the bitterness and restrained whatever remnants of hatred might be left.

It surged inside her now as she looked at Emma, firelight making the golden strands of her hair shine almost white. Clasping her hands together on her lap, Regina swallowed and let out a tiny sigh. She'd never be good – not in the sense that Snow was, anyway. But when she remembered how much she loved Emma and Henry, and how they loved her in return, it seemed to make the bad parts a little less powerful; a little less prevalent.

"It's not her fault," Regina heard herself saying, voice breaking over the words. "I cast the curse. I wanted revenge. If anyone's at fault, then it's – "

"Don't!" Emma demanded, one of her fists thumping against the arm of the chair. She twisted around and faced Regina, hard lines forming around her eyes. "Stop doing that! It's…it's…"

As she floundered, Regina's chin lifted and she rose from the bed, hands balled into fists by her sides. "It's **what**, dear?" she asked, a dangerous note entering her voice. "Isn't that what the High Council was calling for today? For me to be repentant, kneeling before the executioner, neck bared for his blade?"

Her tone was mocking, but her lips trembled and Emma could feel the underlying fear coming from Regina's tense form, radiating from her like a winter frost. Despite the heat from the fire, she shivered.

"It's disgusting," Emma choked out, her throat constricting over the flood of emotion that took her by surprise. Regina rounded upon the chair, looking down at her with silent misunderstanding. Taking a breath to steady herself, Emma turned her head away from Regina's eyes, so dark with hurt that she couldn't bear to look at them.

"You think I'm…disgusting?"

"No," Emma sighed, shaking her head. "Not you."

She got to her feet, striding towards the fireplace again and leaning her arm on the mantle. All her life, Emma had been angry at one thing or another. But most of all, she'd been angry at the parents who had abandoned her. The feeling had roiled inside her like a sickness, a plague for which there was no cure. Emma had grown into a child and, latterly, a woman who believed that she was unlovable, unwanted, undesired. And for all the reasons she had to indulge in the love Snow offered her, there were a hundred others that had carefully taught her to reject it. As much as she was trying to let Snow in, those walls she'd built up were standing tall, lest Emma feel the sting of betrayal just like she had from all her other 'parents'.

But Regina's love had been hard won, fought for in what seemed like an ever-losing battle. And just when the tide seemed turned against her, Emma understood what it was truly like to love with her entire heart, and to receive that love in return. That Regina could be willing to dismiss that love only served to ignite the deep-seated sense of betrayal and anger in Emma's soul; a betrayal that she had always expected.

"This whole thing," Emma spat. "Everything about it disgusts me. We sit there discussing life and death like it's just another item on the agenda. And you…"

She turned to face Regina, features contorted with the turmoil that shook in her voice.

"You've just given up," she said. "And that's not who you are, Regina. The woman I fell in love with fought for **everything**, down to the wire. You never stopped. Back in Storybrooke -"

"We're not **in** Storybrooke anymore, Emma," Regina cut in, her voice hard with inevitable truths. "We don't get to vote. We don't have that sort of democracy here. In this land, one is born into holding the lives of others in the palm of their hands. The rules we applied in Storybrooke just don't matter. They can't."

She pressed her lips together and teetered a little on the stone floor under Emma's dark gaze. "You should get used to it. You can't change centuries of tradition."

"Bullshit!" Emma retorted, stomping across the hearth. "That's an excuse and you know it!"

"An excuse for **what**, precisely?"

"To avoid any responsibility for what happens to you." Emma threw her hands in the air and stalked across the floor to stand in front of Regina. Two bright spots of pink appeared high up on her cheeks, the corners of her mouth tugged downwards by her building anger.

"The only person fighting to keep you alive is me," Emma said. "It's clear that you don't think there's anything…or anyone worth fighting for."

Her lips trembled as she faltered a little, swallowing hard over the lump in her throat. She shook her head, forcing herself to look into Regina's eyes.

"But even if you don't, I **do**. Regina, I need you." Reaching out, she closed her fingers over the other woman's arms, shaking her a little. "I need you here. I have no idea what I'm doing here and I hate what's happening. This isn't my world, Regina. It's yours. And I fucking need you to guide me through it. Do you understand? Do you?"

Her grip was tighter now; she was a little more rough, a little more heated. Angry tears splashed onto her cheeks and Emma knew that the acrid rage in her throat would refuse to abate.

"How dare you even think of leaving me!" she hissed. "And Henry…that kid loves you. He **loves** you, Regina." She shook the other woman again, Regina's head snapping to one side as though Emma had hit her.

"I thought that was all you ever wanted," Emma let go of Regina, pushing the other woman away from her. "You just wanted to be happy."

"I am." Regina finally spoke, pressing a hand to her chest. "I'm more happy than I ever thought – "

"Then why aren't we worth fighting for?" Emma roared, advancing towards Regina with fire in her eyes. "Why don't you love us enough to stay?"

Her words echoed in the vaulted ceiling above them and Regina backed away from Emma until her legs bumped against the side of the bed. But Emma leaned over her, bending Regina back onto the bed until the woman was trapped, fingers scrabbling at the blankets and furs beneath her.

"You think I don't know what you're doing? I wrote the book on running away, Regina. So don't try to tell me you're doing something noble because you're not. You're taking the easy way out."

Emma's voice was thickened by anger, slowed by the trembling of her lips as she tried to speak over the rage inside her. It was only when Regina's hands snatched at her that she blinked, her vision blurred by tears. Regina's fingers pressed against her face, a thumb trailing over her wet cheek.

"Easy?" Regina said in a hushed tone, eyes wide, appalled. "Is that what you think?"

"Why else would you just lie there," Emma snarled, "and accept it." She wrenched herself free from Regina's caress, shoving at the other woman with a blind, rough touch. As Regina fell onto the bed, Emma stumbled backwards a few paces.

"For god's sake, Regina, wake the fuck up and be yourself!" Emma cried. "Be the woman I know you are. You either want us or you don't."

"Of **course** I want you!" Regina cried, but she could see that Emma was past reason, past any and every excuse she might offer. "But I'm not that woman anymore, Emma! I don't…I don't ever want to be that woman again!"

Her head dropped to her chest and she shook it, lifting her hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose again. The atmosphere roared in her ears and Regina knew that it wasn't just silence filling her head, her lungs, her veins.

"I can feel my magic returning, you know," Regina finally said, lifting her head.

"Yes," she nodded, at Emma's stricken expression. "All that power, and no will with which to guide it."

Regina stood, staring intently at Emma. "So tell me, dear, what would you have me do?" There was an unmistakable swagger to her gait as she moved forwards, a flourish of her hand in the air and a dark gleam in her eyes. "Force your parents to submit to my rule again? Cast another curse?"

"Of course not," Emma snapped, chin jutting out. She'd only ever seen glimpses of the woman that Regina had been in this world; the Evil Queen of Henry's stories. But now, for a moment, even in her white clothing, Regina looked for all the world like the imperious ruler she had once been in this land.

It didn't help to dampen Emma's growing rage.

"Then perhaps you'd care to watch your temper," Regina said slowly. "You have **no** idea how difficult it is for me. The spells I know, Emma. Spells that would take us away from here. Spells that would stop anyone doing anything to us ever again."

She took a step closer to Emma, her voice lowering to an almost intimate tone, deep and seductive. "I can feel them all in my head," she murmured. "I haven't thought of them in so long, and ever since we came back here, it's **all** I can think about."

Regina shivered, closing her eyes and swaying on the spot momentarily. Then she clutched her arms around her body, fingers pressing against her sides. Feeling her magic rush through her body, emboldened and strong like she used to be, had tempted her with the seduction of a first kiss; those whirling moments before lips touched lips. Where the want of it outweighed anything and everything else.

It was an intimacy that she felt herself drawn to, despite the consequences. Just like she had been drawn to Emma.

"I don't use my magic, not because I can't," Regina said, jaw hardening. "But because it's the right thing to do. And I have never…"

Her voice broke and she breathed over the tightness in her chest. "I have never, **ever** loved anyone as much as I love you and Henry. But this, Emma, this is the right thing to do."

She reached out to touch Emma lightly on the arm, but the blonde shrugged her off, taking a step back, horror on her face. Anger, too.

"No, it's not!" Emma bellowed. She clenched her hand into a fist and felt her short fingernails dig into her palm with a reassuring pain. "You say it like it is but it's not! It's never going to be the right thing! Nothing about you leaving us is right and I'm not going to let anyone take you away from me!"

The sound of metal on metal brought a halt to her tirade and Emma turned, glowering at the source of it. By the fire, the rack holding the long poker was quivering, the tool inside it shaking from side to side. With a groan, the poker broke free and hurtled across the grate to land with a loud clang on the stone.

Emma looked at Regina, wide-eyed and questioning. But it was only as she lifted her hand in front of her eyes that she became afraid. A white electricity was running over her skin; as she opened her palm and stretched out her fingers, she could see the power surging to their very tips. It crackled, but was cold, leaving tiny pinpricks of frosted sensation across her skin.

As her anger drained away, the sheen of power on her skin dimmed, finally fading away to nothing.

Emma blinked, looking up at Regina. The other woman was gazing at her in greedy curiosity and, for a moment, there was a flicker of grave comprehension in brown eyes.

"Holy shit," Emma whispered. "What the hell was **that**?"


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Charming gave a shout of laughter, rich and throaty, as he sidestepped and parried with his sword. It was a wooden sword, of course. He'd allayed Snow's concerns about teaching Henry how to fight with a promise that he would make it as safe as possible. He wiped the loose sleeve of his shirt across his sweating brow and grinned at the boy opposite.

"That's good!" he laughed, as Henry gritted his teeth and lunged forwards again. "That's really good, Henry."

When it was easy, like this, Charming could almost forget what had happened. _Almost. _ Traces of his life in Storybrooke hung around him, catching at his memory in opportune moments. He didn't much like the man Regina had made him into. But he felt pity for David Nolan, too. The nobility that he'd held so dear as a prince had been snatched away, revealing a weakened man beneath it; a man who made bad decisions and broke the heart of his true love.

He had to wonder, then, if _that_ was the man Regina thought he was: a man lacking the courage of his convictions. Charming had hated Regina in this world. But in Storybrooke, she had saved his life, offered what he'd thought was friendship. It had seemed real. It had certainly _felt_ real enough.

But, these days, all he felt was foolish. Because even now, with his memories restored and the knowledge of what Regina had done to Snow, he still wanted to believe the lie. A part of him – the emotional, irrational part – still wanted to believe that the tentative friendship he'd formed with Regina was real. If nothing else about the past thirty years was, if the life he'd lived in Storybrooke was meaningless, then Charming wanted to have that, at least.

He looked across the castle grounds to where a small group of people sat. Snow had astonished him by inviting both Henry and Regina to join Emma in this visit. Henry, he could understand; they saw so little of the boy now and Charming was beginning to think he should demand Emma return to their castle. She'd be more easily protected and she'd bring Henry with her too.

Charming's gaze moved past his wife and daughter and onto the figure who sat immobile beneath a dark parasol. It was Regina's invitation that had surprised him. Emma had barely left her side and even now was gesturing towards her as Snow put her arm around the shoulders of a somewhat alarmed, elderly man. But Regina had said very little, avoiding have to make eye contact with anyone, even when Charming greeted her with false enthusiasm.

Yes, he nodded to himself. He probably _should_ demand that Emma and Henry come and live here at the castle. But he'd seen the defeat in Regina's face from the moment she set foot outside the carriage they'd sent. He'd seen how the confidence she always exuded with such wicked delight had left her now, how she'd held Henry's hand so tightly that the boy kept glancing up at her with a frown.

And he knew then that he would never ask Emma or Henry to leave Regina. Because he'd also seen the way Regina looked at them, responded to them, felt for them. She looked as though she simply couldn't survive without them. And he'd comforted himself with the fact that, if something created in Storybrooke could be stronger in this world, then there was hope for Regina yet. There was hope that other deeds and words carried out in that land might survive here, too.

Lost in thought for a moment, Charming failed to avoid the wooden sword heading for his gut. It wasn't a heavy blow, but it was enough to wind him and he bent over, holding up his hand.

"I submit! I claim you as victor!" he panted, dropping to the ground and stretching out his legs.

Laughing, Henry threw down his own sword and sat down opposite Charming. He'd always liked David Nolan, despite what some people in Storybrooke said. David was easy to transpose into the role of Prince Charming with his good looks and winning smile. But here, in Fairy Tale Land, Henry was looking at his grandfather with renewed interest. Here, Charming seemed to command respect from the moment he entered a room. He was strong, vital, everything a hero should be.

And yet, Henry knew, he was also kind and gentle and patient. The way a parent should be. Plucking a blade of grass from the ground, Henry chewed on the stem for a minute, looking back over his shoulder at Snow, Regina, Emma and someone his grandmother had proudly introduced as the best magic teacher in all the realm.

The snort he'd heard from Regina's lips had made him giggle and he'd received the sort of look from Snow that had urged him into silence on so many occasions in the classroom.

Turning back towards Charming, Henry frowned.

"I'm sorry you never got to teach Emma how to use a sword," he said suddenly.

Lying on his back, Charming had thrown an arm over his face which he now removed, squinting up at Henry.

"I guess I am too," he admitted, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "From what I hear, she doesn't do too badly at being a knight in shining…" Glancing over at his daughter, Charming frowned at Emma's leather jacket and sighed a little.

"Knight in shining **something**," he nodded at Henry, who grinned brightly. "You know, she's grown up just like her mother anyway."

"She has?" Henry cocked his head onto one side, a quizzical expression on his face.

Charming clapped his hands together, rubbing a few stray blades of grass from his palms. A broad smile parted his lips and he laughed, feeling memory rush gloriously through his head, making him almost dizzy with how rich, how perfect, how true it had all been.

"Henry," Charming leaned forwards and beckoned the boy closer with a crooked finger. "Let me tell you about the **real** Snow White. I think you'll find that your book of fairytales missed out a few of the more interesting details…"

Across the large expanse of lawn outside the castle, Regina gave a bored sigh and shifted in the rather uncomfortable chair that she'd been ushered onto. There was a certain deference that some courtiers showed her, their instincts and upbringing in this world returning along with their memories. But for the most part, she had received more than enough suspicious and hateful glances to last a lifetime, just like she had when she'd lived here before. And she'd pushed people away then, too, to spare herself the ignominy of being rejected.

At least when she had ruled as queen, those looks had been tempered with fear. She'd seen scant glimpses of it on people's faces when she'd arrived at Snow's castle, as though any second she might start throwing fireballs of flaming fury at those who dared judge her.

It had been a rather tempting prospect, Regina smiled grimly to herself. But she'd made a promise to herself as well as Emma and Henry and, begrudgingly, Snow. With magic came power, and Regina wasn't entirely sure that she would be able to wield it responsibly. Because power, she knew, was horribly seductive. The lust for it, her greatest weakness.

She looked over to where Emma was pacing, throwing her hands up in the air and – from what Regina could tell – showering the elderly sorcerer by her side with some rather imaginative cursing. Regina stifled the laugh that sprang easily to her lips. In Storybrooke, Emma's predilection for colorful profanities had irritated Regina. But here, she had begun to delight in it. They had spent so much time fighting one another, hurling fists as well as insults in a barbaric form of courtship, that to see Emma's fire again now brought a fond smile to Regina's face.

Emma was mulishly stubborn, spoke without thinking and often displayed manners more suited to a recalcitrant child. But as even Snow's patience dwindled and she shook her head, stomping towards the chairs, Regina knew that she loved Emma for precisely the same reasons she had initially hated her. They were so different and yet, when they weren't bickering over trivialities to distract them from whatever fate was to be meted out, Regina could almost imagine that this was her happy ending.

But she'd tried hard – _so_ hard – to convince herself of that in Storybrooke. For decades she'd told herself that the past was buried and nobody could hurt her anymore.

And then someone did. Someone who knew hurt like Regina; someone who had felt its claws trickle over skin before opening a ragged wound that would never properly heal.

The simple fact of the matter was that Emma knew her. And Regina wasn't sure that anyone ever had. Not like this, anyway; so bruised and beaten as her spirit was.

She glanced to one side where Snow threw herself into a chair and heaved out an exasperated sigh. Regina smiled, and looked straight ahead where Emma was still arguing with the ancient tutor.

"She's not going to learn like that," she remarked, tilting her parasol back a little.

"Excuse me?" Snow's head snapped around and she glared at Regina, her temper fraying a little when Regina blinked innocently back at her.

"I have no idea who that pitiful excuse for a sorcerer is, but is he **really** the best you can do, Snow?" Regina's tone made Snow blink rapidly in surprise and it was a moment before she found her voice.

"Emma needs to be safe," Snow said, through gritted teeth.

Regina's eyebrows rose and she let out a tiny breath of amusement. "You never were good at subtlety, dear. Are you suggesting that Emma isn't safe with me?"

Snow's fingers curled over the arm of the chair as she leaned towards Regina, and her eyes assumed a hard, bright light as she looked at the woman who still had the power to take her anger and whip it around her like a sudden, magical storm of emotion.

"You took her away from us before. I know you love her, Regina; Henry too, but I will not let you take her away from us again."

"Meaning?" Regina asked with a frown.

"Meaning that Emma has magic. And I have to wonder what you might do with it, given the chance."

"What I might do with it?" Regina had the temerity to let out a trickle of laughter, throwing back her head in a parody of glee. Making a show of closing her parasol, she carefully leaned it against her chair and turned to Snow. Her lips were in a hard line, her eyes dark with mirthless offense.

"You think I would turn her against you? Or is it that you think I'd try to take her magic instead? I assume you **have** met your daughter, Snow. Tell me, dear, can you imagine Emma Swan allowing that to happen?

"Maybe not in Storybrooke," Snow darted back quickly. "But I know Emma; I watched her fall in love with you, fall in love with Henry. And there's **nothing **she wouldn't do to make you happy."

Regina snorted dismissively. "Then you clearly **don't** know her as well as you think you do."

She could see how her comment hurt Snow, how it hinted at all those years lived in ignorance. It cast a shadow over Snow's face and Regina sighed heavily. There was little pleasure left to be had in hurting Snow; it had never quite filled the void inside her even when she'd reveled in it.

Her gaze wandered across the green to where the sorcerer was trying to teach Emma, and she watched the lithe form of the blonde turn and stretch under instruction. Emma was a good person underneath all the walls she'd built to protect herself. She was the product of true love, the most powerful magic in existence. It was why people were drawn to her, to the purity of her heart. And even if Emma doubted that purity, Regina could see it more clearly now than ever before.

"Emma would never let herself do the things I did. Not to you. Not to anyone. She needs you, Snow."

Regina turned, looking at the other woman and shrugged gently. "She's going to need your help. Everything has changed for her in a split second – everyone has changed for her, too. And while you think that Emma's magic might represent a temptation I simply can't resist, you need to remember who your daughter is, Snow. She might very well love me, but she won't allow me to corrupt her as you imagine I intend to do."

"I didn't – I think that's a strong way of putting it," Snow began, but Regina lifted her hand and waved it disparagingly in the air.

"It's what you meant. And I think the time for tiptoeing around things is well and truly over."

Snow pressed her lips together in a hard line, looking at Regina with narrowed eyes. Sometimes, she desperately wanted to believe that the woman who exacted such terrible vengeance on her _had_ changed; that love had transformed her somehow. She agonized over her uncertainty, feeling that it wasn't part of the strong leadership she wanted to portray to her people. So many of them had requested an audience with her, dazed and confused by their return to a life forgotten. Snow had tried to allay their fears that, unless evil was vanquished, it would rise once more and punish them all with an eternity of hellfire. Should Regina regain her powers, they told her, then the Evil Queen would see every single life snuffed out rather than arrested in time.

But Regina had saved Henry's life; she had sacrificed herself and everything she'd created for love. For the thing that Snow held dear above all else. For the thing that the Evil Queen was never supposed to feel.

It was to these facts that Snow clung with a desperation that she didn't understand. Forgiving Regina in Storybrooke had seemed easy in comparison to how she felt now, with the burdens of the entire realm on her shoulders. It muddied clarity and reminded her too much of how she'd felt in this land: hurt, betrayed, alone. But good had come after that; love had come after that, too strong and too true to stay banished forever.

Snow gave Regina a sidelong look, watching how the woman observed Emma. With a tiny intake of breath, Snow's gaze traveled over Regina's features, the depth of her gaze, the way her mouth curved with a smile. Yes, she nodded to herself. True love was too strong to be gone forever, even for the Evil Queen.

"Do you know why I asked you here?"

Regina blinked, the softness falling from her features like a veil, replaced with a harder, more defensive expression. Staring at Snow, she adjusted her skirts in a deliberate gesture.

"You wanted to watch me closely for yourself. You wanted to see if I've changed, as Emma keeps telling you I have. One thing I learnt as queen is that keeping one's enemies close is the only way to find their true weakness."

Snow let out a mirthless huff of laughter. "Is that what you did with me?"

"I…" Regina began, then stopped herself. The artifice of love. How her mother had carefully taught her. Because the real thing – the fractured reality of _actually_ loving Snow – was far too terrifying to contemplate.

"You're right, though," Snow said, jerking Regina from her reverie of love lost. "I did want to see you."

"Here I am, dear," Regina smiled graciously, sweeping a hand down the length of her torso.

Snow frowned. "Sometimes I think you haven't changed at all," she said tersely.

"And neither does your High Council," Regina darted back. "I know they want me dead, Snow. And the people…well," she shrugged, "I can make more than an educated guess as to what they want."

"Not – not everyone," Snow shook her head. She chewed at her lower lip, her frown deepening. "Not everyone thinks that way."

"And yet, I'm less interested as to what everyone else thinks, and far more interested in what **you** think, dearest Snow." Regina's voice was little more than a hiss as she leaned over the arm of her chair.

The sound of it made Snow shudder, tendrils of memory snaking around her before coiling in her gut, repugnant. Her instinct was to fear it, because when Regina spoke this way, she harkened back to a proud, contemptuous queen who had destroyed everything they'd ever known.

But when she straightened courageously in her chair, chin jutting out defiantly, she caught the change in Regina. It was little more than a gleam of her eyes, a shadow over her features. Snow had seen that look before, a long time ago, when Regina had warned her younger self about Cora. She'd seen it again years later, on that dreadful night that nobody ever spoke of.

Regina was afraid.

She hid it well, of course. Regina was still adept at disguising her feelings. But it seemed as though she was tired of doing it, tired of hiding.

Snow leaned forwards in her chair, peering curiously at Regina. "I think," she said slowly, "that the product of true love would never defend someone so vigorously unless there was something worth saving."

Regina's gaze drifted towards Emma again, and she pressed her lips together to stop the smile that automatically sprang to them.

"And do you think there's something worth saving?" she asked, her voice grave.

"I want to," Snow said. Regina's head swung around and two bright, startled eyes stared at her.

"Do you remember that day by Daniel's grave, when I asked you if both of us hadn't suffered enough?"

Regina could still feel the chill wind that was blowing around them on that day; the day when she'd handed Snow a magical apple and sought an end to her grieving, at last. She shivered, her arms moving instinctively around her torso, even though the sun was warm above them.

"I remember," she said.

Snow was wearing the same expression as that afternoon, too, looking at Regina with such pity in her eyes that they welled with tears.

"Then haven't we?" Snow said quietly. "Haven't we both suffered enough?"

Instead of lenience, Snow was offering a peace treaty. Not like before, where the peace between them had been uneasy and Regina had retreated to her fortress in order to plan her revenge. No; this was a cessation of any and all hostilities. An armistice so that something else might flourish; a return to innocence and the reasons why their love was true, once upon a time.

"But…the people – " Regina began.

"You said before that everything and everyone had changed for Emma. You're wrong," Snow cut her off. She shrugged and proffered a tiny smile. "You and Henry haven't. Maybe you're the **only** two people who haven't."

She leaned back in her chair a little and let out a long breath. "You said that Emma needs me and yes, I agree. I'm her mother and I have a lot of time to make up for." She glanced at Regina, a tiny frown burrowing into her brow.

"But," Snow nodded firmly to herself, "you've given Emma the one thing she always wanted. You gave her a family, Regina. And until…until we are her family too, you're the only one she's got. And I – I can't take that away from her."

Her voice broke unexpectedly, emotion constricting her throat. Snow pressed her lips together and shook her head. She had heard voices of dissent in the High Council meeting, those who dared defend Regina and beg for clemency. But the strongest, the loudest and the most impassioned had belonged to Emma, to the very daughter that it seemed Regina _had_ stolen, after all.

But this morning, Henry had crept into her chambers and woken both her and Charming with a solemn expression on his boyish face. In a tone that was calm beyond his years, Henry had explained that Regina was his mother now, much more than adoption papers could ever prove. The boy who believed in fairytales, and whose stubborn courage had its faith in true love, told his grandparents a story about how Emma hadn't just been born to save them. She'd been born to save everyone, but especially Regina.

And perhaps, Snow thought, they'd all been maneuvered, one way or another. Perhaps it wasn't her own fairytale ending that mattered. She and Charming would have always found one another, no matter what path the story took. In the end, her own happiness hadn't really been at stake because it was already written.

But Regina's story wasn't finished. Not yet.

"You'll be an unpopular queen," Regina suddenly said. She inclined her head towards Snow and let out a sigh. "I've heard talk of the unrest in this realm. You returned to a castle and luxuries befitting a royal. But what of the people who returned to their hovels, eking out an existence while remembering their homes in Storybrooke?"

"They're getting used to it…we all are…" Snow said feebly.

"They have no other choice," Regina said. "But they're all stuck here, remembering the last thirty years and blaming me for returning them. The only thing they imagine will make them feel the slightest bit better is revenge."

"Emma won't let that happen."

Regina turned to Snow, shaking her head. "She might not be given that choice."

They both looked towards Emma now, concern etched across the faces of the women who loved her.

"You and your Charming may have created the Savior," Regina said softly, "but you also imbued her with magic. Lots and lots of powerful magic."

She and Snow turned to look at one another again, grave with the knowledge of what magic could do, of how it could shape and change a person who sought to control it. Regina let out a sigh and shook her head.

"Let me instruct her," she said.

"In magic?" Snow gasped, eyes wide.

Regina's eyes narrowed. "Of course," she said, very near disgusted. "Really, dear, apply a little of the instincts you acted on so liberally in the classroom. Emma requires the best; someone who understands magic like no other. And here. She. Is."

Arrogance gleamed brightly in Regina's gaze as she stared at Snow, unblinking. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile before she caught herself, fingers lacing together, grip tightening.

Snow's lips pursed as she sat back a little in her chair. Regina always had possessed a somewhat acid tongue and it smarted as much as it had back in Storybrooke, when Mayor Mills had taken it upon herself to berate, belittle and bewilder Mary Margaret Blanchard.

She blinked at Regina, alarm prickling up and down her spine. "You want to teach Emma magic? Regina, haven't you listened to anything I've been trying to tell you?"

"I have, dear. But what about what I've been trying to tell **you**? Emma has been plunged into an unfamiliar world. You said yourself that the only people who hadn't changed for her were Henry and me. It stands to reason that she's more likely to respond in a positive way to someone she knows, not that doddering fool you found to lecture her."

Snow closed her mouth, failing to come up with anything to refute what Regina said. Glancing at her daughter, she could see the tension in Emma's shoulders, a barely restrained anger in her stance. Since Emma had arrived, the only time Snow had seen her relax was when she was with Regina and Henry. And maybe the love the three of them felt for one another would be enough to have faith in Regina's proposition; enough to mend what had been broken so many years ago.

"Snow, I was carefully taught to use my powers by a much harsher hand than mine. You remember my mother, don't you?"

Shivering a little, Snow frowned. "Of course."

"Then don't you think I know what **not** to do? I would never want to make Emma into…" Regina paused, blinking rapidly over just how easy it had been to plunge into darkness and let her mother hold her under until she drowned in it.

"I've always believed that evil isn't born, it's made," Regina said quietly, avoiding Snow's searching gaze. "And I would never make Emma that way, because evil…**true** evil can only exist in the absence of love."

Her gaze drifted towards Emma again and a tiny frown of comprehension appeared briefly on her forehead.

"And that's something she will never experience again. Even if she felt nothing for me, I would continue to love her."

There was a tiny note of desperation in Regina's voice that Snow leaned towards, peering at the other woman. She'd heard Regina talk about love before and had suspected that it was all lies, specifically designed to lull her into a false sense of security. Snow had learned not to trust a single word that came from Regina's lips.

But Snow also remembered a dark night when a young woman, barely more than a girl herself, had told her that true love creates happiness. As she watched Regina, Snow couldn't help but wonder if it was that very emotion in the other woman's eyes. Perhaps Henry was right; perhaps Emma really _was_ everyone's Savior. Because she was the woman who could give Regina all she'd ever truly wanted: to be loved.

A pang of guilt pierced her chest as she also wondered why the love she'd shown for Regina as a child and young woman had never been enough, not nearly enough to soothe the jagged edges of her broken heart. She had so desperately wanted Regina to be her mother that it had superseded everything, all reason and rationale. And growing up, Snow had failed to see the hurt underneath every caress, every practiced compliment that Regina had offered.

"If I allow it…you training Emma," Snow began hesitantly, "it's a huge leap of faith for me to make. How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't." Regina proffered a tight smile. "And perhaps you shouldn't. But you trust Emma. And until you can put your faith in me, Snow, that might be worth remembering."

"And your own powers?" Snow asked, frowning. "What do you intend to do with them?"

"As little as possible." Regina leaned back in her chair, adjusting her skirts and letting out a dissatisfied sigh. But she caught the dubious sheen in Snow's gaze and shook her head, holding up a hand.

"And that's something you should be thankful for," she added. "There was only one being whose powers exceeded my own in this land. And he's gone…well, who knows where." She waved her hand in the air, adopting that practiced manner of dismissal that was reminiscent of the monarch she used to be. Rumpelstiltskin's whereabouts had, as of yet, not been determined, but Regina was certain that if he had returned to this world then his presence would surely have been felt by now.

It was a hope she clung to in her darkest moments - that he was gone forever. But in those moments she also imagined meting out the punishment he deserved for manufacturing this mess in the first place. For ruining what life she could have had in this land, for encouraging her to embrace the same emptiness that echoed inside him. Rumpelstiltskin was responsible for tempting her with darkness as a substitute for what she really desired; for letting her believe that her magic could take the place of human affection and love.

She would never forgive him for that.

"Without him, there's nobody to stop you," Snow said in a low tone.

"**I** stop me," Regina snapped, glaring at Snow. "You may not think much of me, dear, but let me assure you that if I wanted to use my powers then there's very little you or anyone could do about it."

"And you may not think much of **me**, Regina," Snow bit back, her chin lifting, "but if that happened, then we would throw you in a dungeon and keep you there."

Regina snorted. "A dungeon? There's no castle dungeon in all the realm that could hold me."

"We made one that held **him**," Snow said. The conceit on Regina's face that had made her eyes bright and hard froze, then disappeared. Snow nodded to herself as Regina turned away; whatever magic they had used to hold Rumpelstiltskin underground could be used again if necessary. But even as the threat hung in the air between the two women, Snow knew in her heart that Emma would never let that happen. That Regina might not, either.

"Let me instruct her," Regina said again, her eyes fixed upon Emma. "She's undisciplined. Chaotic. She needs to learn how to control her powers before they control her."

Snow chewed at her lower lip as Emma held out her hand and flexed her fingers. Her daughter's face was resolute, set in a determined expression. But as light formed under her instructor's critical gaze, Emma bristled and the light cracked, sending sparks flying from her hand. A plume of white heat shot up from her palm, arching into the air before exploding, showering a nearby tree with ferociously hungry flames. The dry branches were alight almost instantly, fire crackling and spreading with dangerous abandon.

Several of the ever-present guards rushed forwards, shouting to one another in alarm. Emma turned to her tutor with a panicked look, hands up in the air as she backed away from the growing heat. The guards began beating at the flames they could reach with their cloaks, to little effect.

Regina turned to Snow, lips curved in a rather smug expression.

"I rest my case," she intoned. Then, lifting her hand, she flicked her fingers towards the tree and the flames were immediately extinguished, much to the bemusement of the guards below. Tendrils of smoke began to rise from the blackened timber as Regina tucked her hands onto her lap and waited.

Snow folded her arms over her chest and slumped back into her chair in a manner less suited to a queen and rather more to the behavior of a recalcitrant child.

"Fine," she barked. "You can teach her. But I swear, Regina, if this is all part of some scheme then – "

"Then you can throw me in that dungeon yourself," Regina finished.

XxxXxx


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Dinner was a lot less awkward than Emma had suspected. Even if they _were_ sitting around one end of a huge banqueting table, and even if the experience of being served by former citizens of Storybrooke didn't sit well with her, she soon found herself drawn into the excitable conversation that Henry was having with Snow and Charming. She watched as her father clapped Henry on the back, as Snow smiled at him with such loving indulgence that Emma felt her heart clench inside her chest. But when that smile was turned upon her, and Snow reached across the table to briefly lay her hand over Emma's, it was almost too much to bear.

_This_ was what family felt like. Emma had always wondered, always yearned to taste it, to savor it and allow it to fill her up. And as foreign as it was on her tongue, she already knew she could become familiar with it. Perhaps even learn to enjoy it.

Beside her, Regina was quiet, withdrawn. She had barely eaten her food, choosing instead to pick over it with a fork before pushing the metal platter away with tired fingers. She watched the conversation closely but was set apart from it, observing but not participating. A strained longing pulled at her as she felt somewhat like an interloper, the outsider to this family unit that laughed and teased and chattered in front of her.

Her gaze rested on Snow, sitting at the head of the table. She had adopted her role as queen with grace and enthusiasm, with the famed care and considered fortitude that typified her when last they were here. But now it was tempered with the quiet strength that Mary Margaret had possessed and it suited her well.

Regina remembered how she'd usurped Snow, how she'd claimed her throne with fear and might. But any loyalty shown to her hadn't been engendered in love, as it was in Snow's subjects. No; the palace guards at Regina's fortress had carried out her will because she demanded it. Only one guard had ever rebelled, but the threats Regina had made against the families who cowered under her rule weren't idle. And she carried them out with due diligence in order to make her point.

After that, no guard ever refused her again.

She had thought that power might ease the ache in her soul, but Regina was wrong. And now, having returned here, she felt none of the insatiable lust for it that she once had. There was no determination to rule, no need to conquer and destroy. And being queen? It meant nothing to her. Not anymore.

"Mom, did you see me and Charming fighting?" Henry leaned over the table and brought a smile to Regina's lips as she came out of her reverie.

"Yes, dear," she nodded at him. "You looked very dashing. Every bit the brave knight."

Henry beamed as Charming's arm crept around his shoulders in a congratulatory hug.

"Unfortunately the dragon slaying had to wait," Charming said, his face deadpan. "Emma set fire to a tree and we all had to run for our lives in case the castle burned down."

Henry had the foolishness to let out a bark of laughter as Charming chuckled and looked across the table at his daughter. Emma glowered at them both, lifting her hand and wiggling her fingers.

"Don't make fun of the magic," she growled, as Henry's eyes grew wide and fearful. "It might come back to bite you in the ass."

It was only when she smirked at him and winked that he let out a relieved, rueful sigh. Charming rolled his eyes at his daughter as the three of them burst into loud, raucous laughter.

Looking at them, Snow's smile suddenly froze on her face as she realized the bond between father, daughter, grandson. They were so alike. And she felt it, then: the yawning void inside her of all the years she never got to be a mother and watch her daughter grow up. She'd always encouraged Emma's tentative, regretful relationship with Henry back in Storybrooke, but she'd never once suspected that she could wholly identify with it.

Her gaze moved instinctively across the table to where Regina sat. As their eyes met, Snow saw those years echo in the comprehension that momentarily darkened Regina's features. Because, perhaps for the first time, Regina played witness to what she'd taken from Snow; what she'd stolen away with curses and dark magic and bitterness.

Snow's heart beat wildly in her chest as she recognized guilt and how it gleamed in Regina's eyes. It would be so easy to hate her right now, to whisk her away and keep her imprisoned so that she could never hurt anyone again. A brief flare of anger burned in her throat and she wondered, for a fleeting moment, what it would be like to give in to it. Just like she had done all those years ago when she'd aimed an arrow at Regina's heart and trusted Rumpelstiltskin's word that it would find its target.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Emma turn to Regina. Snow watched as Emma leaned in towards the other woman, laying her hand gently onto Regina's arm. Just like it had earlier on in the day, Regina's face acquired a softer hue as she looked at Emma and the two women shared a tiny, secretive smile.

Snow's chest hurt even more at the sight of it.

"Did you see my mom put the fire out?"

Henry was leaning eagerly across the table, a broad smile across his face. He remembered racing across the green with Charming, then stopping dead in his tracks as he saw how easily and nonchalantly Regina cast her magic. His book had described some of the Evil Queen's powers, but seeing them for himself was a strange, unexpected feeling. It was as though he'd seen power literally vibrate through Regina, making her stronger than he'd ever imagined.

But it had made him feel safe, not frightened. Because he knew in his heart that Regina would never use that magic against him. She'd assured him of that repeatedly since they'd returned to Fairy Tale Land. And for all the lies she'd told in Storybrooke, Henry was surprised to find out that he believed her now.

"It was really neat!" he exclaimed, looking around the table at the indulgent faces surrounding him. All except one.

"Henry," Regina said sternly, "magic can be very dangerous if not used responsibly. It's not a toy. It's a very real, powerful thing."

Henry sighed and slumped back in his chair, throwing a pleading look towards Emma. But she merely raised her eyebrows and puffed out her cheeks, shrugging at him.

"Sorry, kid," she said helplessly. "I gotta agree with your mom. I mean, we were lucky it was only a tree I hit."

Emma glanced at Regina then across the table at Snow, her eyes worried. "What if I hurt someone?" she asked. "What if I can't ever control it?"

She clenched her hand into a fist and shoved it into her lap, shaking her head. Her first magic lesson hadn't been a success; Emma knew that she'd been close to taking out the sorcerer with her fists as he'd kept up a constant stream of criticism and demands. Before the magic had leapt, untamed, from her fingers, she only remembered how angry she'd been, how much she resented the predicament she was in. And the magic…well, for a split second Emma had hated it, too, crawling inside her like some sort of disease.

It wasn't quite the future she'd allowed herself to envisage. And it certainly hadn't ever been a part of the life she'd had before all of this. Magic was something that belonged to fairytales, to make believe worlds and stories where the impossible was not only possible, but probable. Their legacy in her world endured because of the stark absolute of good triumphing over evil.

But now she was a part of that legacy, raised in ignorance and a fastidious belief in the hard truths of her lonely life. Emma wasn't sure if she was fully ready to accept what this world had awoken in her. Being witness to magic was one thing; feeling it rush through her veins, unfettered and hot with rage was quite another.

Snow exchanged a look with Regina before reaching out and touching Emma lightly on the shoulder, a comforting gesture that brought a faint smile to the blonde's face.

"Your powers are a part of you," Snow said gently. "You've always had magic, Emma. But you were raised in a land where it simply didn't exist, so nobody ever taught you how to use it. If you'd grown up here, then…"

She trailed off and couldn't help looking at Regina again. There was no need to say it out loud. The inference was clear. Emma hadn't grown up in this world because of Regina, because of the actions that Snow and Charming had been forced to take under the shadow of the Evil Queen's curse.

But if none of that had happened, and Emma had grown up within the castle walls, learning to use her magic as a child, then she would never have been the Savior that this world needed. She would never have had Henry, never fallen in love with Regina and assuaged the terrible, grieving hurt in the Evil Queen's heart.

Snow couldn't help but wonder if this had all been set down long before she and Charming ever met, long before Regina lost Daniel. If where they were now wasn't so much a destination, but merely a stopping point along the road to story's end.

"Anyway," Snow said, sitting up in her chair a little. "I've decided that your tuition shall continue." She almost smiled at the disconsolate expression that flooded Emma's features.

"But Regina will take over the role of instructor," Snow added.

"What?" Emma's hands planted palm down on the table and she looked between her mother and her lover, shocked.

"What?" Henry echoed, his eyes wide.

"It might go some way to changing public opinion," Snow continued, avoiding Regina's gaze, fixed firmly on her face.

"Or it might make things worse," Charming frowned. His wife looked at him and reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tightly. He'd been privy to conversations that his wife hadn't; he'd heard the true feelings of the townsfolk when it came to Regina and had navigated through them with an increasing worry. Because it all came down to trust, in the end. And nobody trusted Regina.

But Emma did. And that was enough to put a faint glimmer of hope into Charming's heart; a child borne from true love was capable of saving everyone, even those who had been lost in darkness for so very long.

"Oh, believe me, dear," Regina's voice darted across the table towards him, a note of the woman she used to be ringing in every word. "If I wanted to abuse my powers, then I would have done so by now. Easily."

Her lips twisted in a sneer as she fixed him with a dark gaze. "However, your faith in me is touching."

"Can you blame me?" Charming said, his face set in lines that painful memory put there.

"Wait…" Emma lifted her hand in the air and shook her head a little. "What about the High Council? What about everything they said?"

"I'll deal with the High Council," Snow said firmly. "I'm doing what's best for my daughter and nothing is more important than that."

She nodded decisively, the queen who had been smothered by Mary Margaret Blanchard bursting to the surface. A regal solemnity dictated her posture and she looked around the table at her family, her gaze finally resting on Regina.

"Nothing is more important than family." It wasn't intended as a threat, but Regina interpreted it as such. Not that she could fault Snow; family was really the only thing that mattered anymore, in any world. And she would do whatever it took to keep hers, just like Snow.

"Thank you," Regina said, inclining her head ever so slightly. Under the table, she felt the firm pressure of Emma's hand on her leg and looked at the blonde, nodding in assent and supplication.

Henry scrambled from his seat and literally ran towards Snow, throwing his arms around her neck as soon as he reached her. The impromptu hug rather took her by surprise and it was a moment before her hand slid up his back, patting it gently.

"Thank you, thank you," he muttered against her cheek, his breath hitching. "She has to get her happy ending. She **has** to."

Regina cleared her throat and looked away from her son. She'd tried _so_ hard, for _so_ many years to gain his favor, but only earned an emptiness that resonated with the life here she'd so desperately tried to leave. And now Henry was defending her, shining with the affection she'd craved so much. It choked her, prickling tears behind her eyes that she fought to quell.

"You okay?" Emma leaned forwards, concern flurrying over her face.

"I'm fine, dear," Regina said, forcing herself to smile. "Just something of a headache coming on, I think."

She rose from the table, bending with unusual deference towards Snow and Charming, giving Henry a warm smile. He beamed at her and bounced on the soles of his feet with boyish enthusiasm as he clutched onto Snow's hand. He was happy. Regina wasn't sure she'd ever seen him so happy – certainly not during the ten years he'd lived with her in Storybrooke, anyway.

"I think I'm going to lie down for a little while," Regina said, making her way towards the door. Two of Snow's guards moved to flank her and she bristled a little, but said nothing. It was, after all, a pertinent reminder that trust needed to be earned, and Regina was beset with the task of doing so.

She had barely reached the corridor that led to her chambers when a figure appeared beside her, keeping pace with her swift gait.

"Do you really have a headache?" Emma asked, bumping her shoulder against Regina's, a faint grin appearing on her lips. "Or was all that just a bit too much for you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, dear." Regina refused to meet Emma's gaze and instead cast a baleful glance behind her at the two guards following them.

Emma put her arm out in front of Regina, effectively stopping her, and turned to face the guards who were a few feet behind, standing to attention. She folded her arms over her chest and eyed them, sighing a little impatiently.

"Seriously?" she jerked her chin towards them. "You know you guys don't have to follow her everywhere, right?"

"We received orders from the queen – "

"Yeah, I know what you received," Emma cut in. "But you know what she can do, don't you? With her magic?" She withdrew one of her arms from where it was held against her chest and pointed with a somewhat laconic finger towards Regina.

"So those swords of yours are kinda useless. Which pretty much makes you less like guards and more like, you know, stalkers."

The guards exchanged a glance and shifted uncomfortably. The Evil Queen may have been vanquished, but her specter loomed large in their newly regained memories. And in that ghostly form of remembrance, they felt fear take root in their hearts once more.

"If she wanted to, she could make you disappear, just like that." Emma clicked her fingers together and one of the guards took a tiny step backwards, his gaze flitting towards Regina.

"Emma," Regina said in a warning tone, but the blonde held up her hand and effectively silenced any protests that Regina might have had.

"But things change," Emma said gravely. "Things **have** changed. She's changed. So you're going to leave us alone and when anyone asks you where Regina is, you'll say she's with me. Okay?"

Doubt slid across the faces in front of her and she stood a little taller, throwing back her shoulders. Regina felt a warmth bloom in her chest as Emma took a step to one side, standing in front of her.

"Guys," Emma said sharply, planting her hands onto her hips. "Okay?"

There was something to her stance that belonged to the other world; a world where she'd never run away from a fight. She wasn't about to start now. Not when she actually had something worth fighting for.

It wasn't a princess who stood before the guards now; it was a Sheriff. And the guards responded to her authority as though they were still in Storybrooke, still ignorant of this realm and the roles they had returned to. Emma stared at them for a long moment, then turned and grasped Regina's hand in her own, tugging the other woman along the corridor.

By the time they reached the room that Snow had given them, Regina was breathing hard from just trying to keep up with Emma's quickened stride. Emma flung open the door and almost shoved her inside the room. By the time the huge oak door had slammed shut, rattling against its hinges, Emma was on Regina, pushing her back against the stone wall and kissing her soundly.

"I've wanted to do this all day," Emma mumbled, as her tongue lathed wet heat up Regina's neck.

"Yes, I imagine you have," Regina purred, then gasped as Emma's teeth closed around her earlobe. Fingers scrabbled at her skirts and she heard a grunt of irritation as Emma failed to find purchase.

"Dammit, Regina," Emma breathed into her ear, shivering sound and sensation down Regina's spine. "You know I love the outfits and all…"

Emma's hands ghosted over the swell of Regina's breasts, making the other woman hiss with pleasure and arch her back from the wall.

"But they're a pain in the ass to get off of you." Emma grabbed at the offending attire, tugging at it hard enough to cause a faint tearing sound.

"I dressed for a visit with the queen," Regina chuckled, as Emma huffed a warm breath against her neck. "**You** may be content to wander around looking like a village ruffian, but **I** have standards."

Emma let out a blurt of laughter and stepped back, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Her eyebrows rose and she cocked her head onto one side.

"Don't look at me like that," Regina frowned, but it was half-hearted and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a smirk. "I suppose you'd rather I wore a rag dress that could be removed at a moment's notice."

"That might be fun next time we have dinner with my parents," Emma commented drolly.

Regina smoothed her hands over the bodice of her dress, fingers running over dark blue velvet to where it met the swell of her skirts. She'd always reveled in her expensive clothes – a trait she'd taken to Storybrooke. If she were honest, she rather missed the clean lines of her suits and the shoes she chose with such care and attention in that world. But she dressed accordingly, and her status here always dictated outfits as impressive as the control she wielded over the realm.

But now they were back here, Regina wasn't sure _what_ her status was. And, she supposed, the clothes were little more than a vain attempt to find out. But the way the guards had looked at her still rankled; their wary eyes made her wonder if anything had changed at all.

"I just want to touch you," Emma said softly, sliding her hands around Regina's tightly cinched waist. "I feel like we haven't been alone since we got here."

"We haven't," Regina said hungrily, a deep hum of desire vibrating in the pit of her stomach. She shoved her hands into Emma's hair, fisting blonde locks that ran over her fingers like silk. They kissed again, this time with an increasing fervor as Emma pushed her body flush against Regina's.

At the back of her mind, Regina knew she was always waiting for when the intensity of this would fade. Not since Daniel had she felt such an instinctual urge towards someone, asking them to own her completely. But she had grown bored of people since then; tired of their inadequacy and the absence of what she needed. She'd grown hard, too; the innocence of her first love turning to stone inside her chest. Sometimes she couldn't even remember what it had felt like; sometimes it was hard to remember that she'd ever felt it before.

As her tongue found Emma's, Regina trembled under a flood of want so overwhelming that she let out a pitiful groan and tightened her hold on Emma's hair. Emma's kisses were like the first time: hungry and eager with desire. And then, in moments of pure abandon, it was as though they'd always done this, forever. It rushed around Regina's head, dizzying her so that she swayed in Emma's embrace, pressed herself against Emma's lithe, strong body.

Emma plucked at the dress again with hasty fingers, a groan escaping her throat that was distinctly disappointed. Wrenching herself away from Regina, Emma staggered back a couple of paces and pointed at the offending attire.

"Jesus, Regina," she said in a thickened tone. "Take off your goddamned clothes."

Regina's eyes widened and she straightened haughtily, glaring at Emma in assumed affront. "Take off **your **clothes," she bit back.

They stared at one another for a moment, eyes locked in a silent war of attrition. Emma's chin lifted defiantly but this was one battle she knew she couldn't win. If she knew anything about Regina, it was that she'd never much taken to following orders.

Well, Emma reminded herself with a tiny smile of conceit, there _were_ exceptions to that rule, but it wasn't as though she could – or would – ever tell anyone about _those_.

Letting out a grumbling sigh, Emma tore at her jeans, sliding them down her legs and kicking at her boots until they flew in opposite directions across the floor. She pulled on her shirt, lifting it over her head and shaking out her hair. Throwing the cotton shift to one side, Emma faced Regina wearing nothing but her underwear. She felt the other woman's gaze move over her slowly, tracing the contours of her body. Emma shivered; it felt as though Regina was touching her, those delicate fingertips chasing sensation over skin and muscle.

Regina smiled, smug, satisfied. Lifting an eyebrow, she gestured with a finger towards Emma's white cotton panties.

"**All** your clothes," she said in a low voice of intent.

Emma glowered at her. Regina's finger moved slowly back towards her body, lingering at the base of her throat before beginning a deliberate, tantalizing journey down over her chest. When it dipped between the plump curves of her breasts, Emma let out a grumbling sigh.

"Fine," she grunted, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pushing them down over her hips.

Stepping out of them and shoving them to one side with her foot, Emma shrugged carelessly and jerked her head towards Regina, the grin on her mouth distinctly wolfish.

"Now you," she said shortly, drawing a harsh breath as her nipples puckered and became firm in the cool air of their room.

Regina lifted a hand, sweeping it down the length of her body. A purple mist billowed from her feet, puffing out in plumes of smoke that wound itself around her skirts. It snaked up her body, circling her until Emma could no longer spy Regina behind the magical veil. As quickly as it had appeared, the mist began to dissipate, finally fading into nothing at all.

The dress was gone.

Everything was gone.

Emma feasted her eyes on Regina's form. She'd touched it countless times, caressed it with her fingers and worshipped it with her mouth. But it was moments like this, where all that dressed Regina in layers of secrecy and acquired confidence were stripped away. And what remained was a woman. Just a woman.

Regina's arms came up to cover her breasts and she shifted uncomfortably under Emma's gaze. Such scrutiny had always made her brazen, pride and arrogance rising up to defend what lay beneath enquiring eyes. But the way Emma was looking at her only made Regina feel horribly, nakedly vulnerable. Baring her skin, she could manage. But baring herself? That was something she still found difficult, fear tempering trust.

It was probably one of the hardest things she'd _ever_ tried to do.

But she met Emma's gaze anyway with as much courage as she could muster. "Well?" Regina said, rather imperiously.

The corner of Emma's mouth quirked upwards in a smile and she put her hands onto Regina's shoulders, pushing the other woman back against the wall once more. She moved closer, her skin whispering over Regina's where it touched thighs, belly, breasts.

"Are you gonna teach me how to do that?" she murmured, her lips ghosting over Regina's.

"I don't ever recall it being particularly difficult to get **you** undressed," Regina responded in an attempt at admonishment, but she couldn't help the sighing moan that escaped from her mouth.

"Oh yeah?" Emma's mouth made its way up Regina's neck, the tip of her tongue lingering in the hollow just beneath the other woman's ear. "And whose fault is that?"

Regina chuckled, but it dipped into another moan as Emma's teeth scraped down over her skin and bit a little too hard on her shoulder. They felt sharp, ravenous. Regina gasped and arched her back, arms sliding around Emma's waist.

"You have no idea how much I want you," Emma whispered, her breath hot and hungry at Regina's ear. A throb hummed between her thighs, making her roll her hips forwards and she felt her need for Regina gnaw at her, low in her belly. She'd always scoffed at people who talked about having an insatiable desire for someone, relegating that sort of thing to the stuff of fantasies.

But Regina _was_ the stuff of fantasies, the embodiment of everything Emma had always denied herself. To indulge in it time and again only served to increase her appetite for it, only strengthened the great passion that trembled in every fevered kiss they shared.

Emma would never deny herself this again. Not when Regina moved against her and grabbed at her as though she was afraid to let go.

"Do you know what you do to me?" Emma shivered as Regina laughed softly against her neck in a dangerously inviting timbre.

"Why don't you tell me?" Regina murmured.

Emma slid a hand between their bodies, pushing two fingers between her legs and swallowing hard at how wet she was, how eagerly her body responded to being touched, even it was by her own hand.

She moved back a little, gazing into Regina's eyes, losing herself momentarily in their blackened depths. Emma loved seeing Regina like this, caught in a maelstrom of utter, wanton desire. It was the truest, most honest part of her – a part that had lain dormant for so long that when Emma awakened it, it threatened to consume them both.

"Why don't I show you?" Emma said in a choked voice, dragging her fingers over Regina's lips, leaving them glistening with traces of her own wetness. She held her breath, almost fearful, as a slow, deliberate smile curved Regina's mouth.

Then the other woman was on her, against her, winding around her and kissing her with a desperate, impatient air. Emma could taste herself on Regina's mouth, hear the muttered words of entreaty as Regina pushed at her, both of them stumbling a little.

"Bed," Regina growled, tugging Emma's hand as they moved across the room, finally falling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Clutching at one another, their mouths met once more, breathing already ragged. Regina leaned over the blonde, staring down at her with moist, parted lips.

"You're beautiful," Emma whispered, her eyes wide, looking up at Regina as though she'd never seen her before.

Regina smiled, a single eyebrow quirking as she moved over Emma, insinuating herself between the blonde's legs. Her thigh brushed over the patch of wiry curls between Emma's thighs and the blonde gasped, hips thrusting upwards. When they met firm flesh, she groaned and her hands reached up to grasp at Regina. But cool fingers slid around her wrists, pushing them back onto the bed so that they rested on either side of her head.

"If I am," Regina said slowly, "then it's because you make me so." Her hips swayed in a lazy circle as her body pressed against Emma's, nipples scraping tantalizingly over skin that was becoming hot beneath her own.

She rolled to one side, hooking her leg over Emma's and sliding against a muscular thigh. A hiss of pleasure escaped her lips as she made contact and she swallowed, resisting the urge to bear down and seek her own pleasure. Releasing Emma's wrists, one of her hands trailed over a collarbone, tracing the swell of a breast until her palm bumped over a hard, peaked nipple.

Bending her head, Regina took it into her mouth, teeth closing over it and eliciting a pained, delirious cry from the blonde. The tip of Regina's tongue flicked over it, drawing a series of guttural sighs from Emma before her fingers plunged into Regina's hair and she forcibly pulled the other woman's mouth from her body.

Crooking her leg, Emma's knee rose up between Regina's legs and she let out an appreciative hum as it became sticky and wet. Her arm slid around Regina's waist, fingers splaying out across her back as they shifted, bodies moving together instinctively. They kissed again, this time with increasing urgency, an imprecise meeting of lips, tongues, teeth. Emma groaned deep in her throat, her shoulders pushing back into the doughy mattress beneath them as Regina's hand fluttered down her torso, over her belly, lingering where Emma's legs were parted wide. Regina could feel the heat radiating from between them and she closed her eyes, relishing the aching moments before touch superseded restraint. Her heart was racing, face flushed with prescient climax, and she drew in a sharp breath as Emma whimpered and moved her hips upwards again.

A hand closing around her wrist made her eyes open and she stared down at Emma. There was a desperation in the green eyes that gazed back at her and as Emma tugged her hand lower, Regina couldn't help smiling.

"Impatient, are we?" she murmured, as her fingertips brushed against puffy, swollen lips.

Emma's teeth caught briefly at her lower lip before she let out a long, graveled sigh, hips canting upwards.

"I was impatient about three hours ago," she grunted.

Regina's fingers made their way past damp curls into a molten heat that closed around them. A hungry light gleamed in her gaze as she watched Emma gasp, squeezing her eyes tight shut for a second. Her smile widened as she moved through soaked flesh that clung to her touch, up to where Emma's clitoris was firm under her fingertip. Regina scraped her nail over it and Emma jerked underneath her, a cry bubbling up and flying from her open mouth.

"How about now?" Regina whispered, bending her head and pressing her lips against the shell of Emma's ear. She chuckled in a low, satisfied tone as Emma grabbed at her, pulling her closer, melding their bodies together. Regina swirled her hips as Emma's leg shifted, pushing against her in the most delicious way. The groan that she poured into Emma's ear made the blonde buck against her as Regina pinched Emma's clitoris between her thumb and forefinger.

"How about," Emma ground out with difficulty, "you stop asking me questions and…" She gulped, tightening her hold around Regina's waist as the other woman began a slow, steady movement up and down her thigh, smearing it with wetness.

"And?" Regina whispered against her neck, lips nibbling at the skin there, her warm breath shivering sensation down Emma's body.

Two hands grasped her hips, pushing her further down onto Emma's leg and Regina couldn't suppress the moan of want that flowed hot and heavy over Emma's throat. Emma's fingers were unrelentingly hard, digging into the curve of her buttocks and Regina felt desire coil low in her belly, tense and unrelenting. It wouldn't wait. Emma wouldn't wait.

"And fuck me," Emma hissed.

Without warning, Regina slid two fingers inside the blonde and both women let out a gratified breath. Leaning heavily on one arm, Regina began to slide her fingers in and out of Emma, gazing almost wonderingly down at the woman beneath her. She loved Emma the most when she was like this: raw, quivering and sighing with need. The body under her touch began to undulate, Emma's muscles tightening and flexing with every thrust.

She would probably never understand how much Regina needed this, the physical contact that transcended the melee around them in this land. Because when they were together this way, the rest of the world fell away and it was only them, indulging in one another's bodies as though it was their own private means of escape.

And perhaps it was, Regina thought, as she pushed deeper inside Emma, her thumb pressing down hard on the tight clitoris beneath it.

"Is this what you wanted?"

Regina couldn't help herself. She needed to hear it, craved Emma's desire in whatever broken, strangled tones it might be offered. There were times when she thought she'd never sate her need to know, to be certain that what they had between them was real and true.

Emma gazed up at her as Regina began to move faster, with more certainty and purpose, her touch a little more careless, a little more forceful.

"Is it?" Regina demanded, shoving her fingers into Emma so hard and so deeply that the blonde's eyes widened, acquiring a rich, verdant hue.

"Yes…oh god…yes…" Emma was panting now, lights flickering behind her eyes as her body began to shudder. She gripped Regina's hips even harder and forced herself to look into the deep brown eyes fixed on her face. Sometimes Emma wasn't sure that she'd ever wanted anything _but_ this, because when they were together this way, it often felt like the only thing that made any sense.

"Don't leave me," Emma heard herself say as sensation rocketed up her spine and exploded in her chest. "Please, Regina, don't ever –"

Anything else she might have said was snatched from her lungs as she rose from the bed again to meet the oncoming climax that was tingling and aching and demanding release throughout her entire body. She wound her arms around Regina, pulling the other woman close against her, not nearly close enough. As she sucked in air, Emma felt Regina's mouth on her shoulder, whispered words of encouragement and greedy longing falling onto her skin.

It was all she needed, really. All she wanted. All she had.

Jerking and shaking uncontrollably, Emma buried her face against Regina's neck, muffling the cry that came from her mouth. For a single, perfect moment, Emma felt as though she was free, unchained from the status and responsibility that rested on her shoulders; liberated from all that threatened to hold her down. With this woman, with all that had passed between them and all that they'd navigated together, none of that seemed to matter anyway. With this woman, Emma knew, she could fly.

She fell back onto the bed, breathing heavily, hearing her heart pound loudly in her ears. With an uncommon tenderness, Regina withdrew her fingers and lay down beside Emma, sliding an arm over the blonde's stomach. Emma's eyes were closed, nostrils flaring as she attempted to breathe normally, her chest rising and falling as the last vestiges of her orgasm flitted through her body.

Blindly, Emma reached down and grasped Regina's hand, lacing their fingers together. She'd always wondered what her home would be like, should she be lucky enough to ever have one. And the older she got, the more distant that prospect seemed, always just beyond her grasp. By the time she'd gone to Storybrooke, she'd all but given up on ever fully knowing what home felt like, abandoned any notions she might have harbored of a family, love, the things that other people seemed to have so easily.

But for the first time in this strange land, surrounded by unfamiliar people wearing familiar faces, Emma understood that home wasn't a place at all. And her endless roaming had failed to provide her with the simple knowledge that home was made of people, of the warmth and love they had to offer her.

As Regina nestled against her, Emma squeezed the other woman's hand and allowed contentment to burgeon in her chest. Because home? It was with Regina, with Henry, perhaps even with Snow and Charming, too. With the people who loved her more than she'd ever been loved in her entire life. But more importantly, with the people who wanted her.

She was home. At last.

XxxXxx

"Do you really think I'm going to leave you?"

Regina's voice vibrated in her chest, thrumming against Emma's cheek. They were lying under one of the furs on the bed, hastily thrown over them to combat the encroaching chill of the castle room. Emma was almost asleep, satisfied and drowsy, wrapped in Regina's arms.

Lifting her head, Emma blinked at the other woman before moving slightly and propping her head up on one hand.

"I think you would do whatever it takes to keep Henry and I safe," Emma said slowly. "And the last time we talked, you were the one ready to throw yourself on any sword coming your way."

"I want to do what's right," Regina said firmly, toying with a strand of Emma's hair that whispered over the blonde's shoulder.

"Yeah, I get that," Emma sighed. "And that's really noble, Regina. But leaving us isn't right. How can it be? We love you too much to let you go without a fight."

Regina pressed her lips together for a moment. Emma's stubborn refusal to contemplate a life where the Evil Queen paid for her sins with blood and sacrifice was borne from love. And it was the purest, most enduring form of love that Regina had ever known; certainly all she'd ever wished for. But the tenuous treaty she'd entered into was hanging by a delicate, fragile thread, and her life along with it.

"That's what you do, isn't it?" she said, the words leaving her mouth almost as an afterthought. Emma frowned up at her, shifting in the bed. Regina gave an absent smile and shook her head a little.

"You fight, Emma. You're a warrior."

"If I am," Emma said ruefully, "then it's because that's the way life made me." She moved against Regina, throwing a leg over the other woman's and sliding a hand over the soft mound of Regina's belly. The skin there was warm, inviting. For a moment she could almost imagine that their worries were locked outside the door and she wished fervently that they could stay this way forever. Safe.

"When you're in the foster system, it's not like they tell you it's going to be," she said, her fingers flexing on Regina's flesh. Twin lines furrowed her brow as she avoided Regina's enquiring gaze and allowed herself to remember. She'd tried so hard to forget, running from memories that haunted and troubled her.

"I learned pretty quickly that there are two types of kids in the foster system: those who survive it, and those who don't. I had to fight for everything, you know? Because I figured that even if my parents didn't…"

She swallowed over the rising lump in her throat, over the years of abandonment and loneliness that the foster system had forced upon her. Blinking back the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes, Emma let out a sigh and felt Regina's hand on her back, swirling soothing circles on her skin.

"I figured that even if my parents didn't want me," she continued, "then I was damn sure that **someone** would, somewhere. I got bounced around for a while but I kept on fighting so when I was old enough, I could make it on my own."

"That sounds lonely," Regina said softly.

Their eyes met and Emma smiled sadly. "Yeah, it was."

She moved a little closer to Regina now, craving the solid comfort of a body against her own. Nobody knew the reality of her life; nobody had ever cared enough to ask. And the cobweb of memories that hid those years of pain and solitude had remained undisturbed, shrouding the hurt as best as Emma could manage.

"I was with a family when I was a kid," Emma confessed. "They were nice, you know? Had a house, a garden out back. They even had a dog." Her shoulders hitched with a faint laugh and she felt Regina's eyes on her, gazing intently.

"But when they had their own kid, they didn't want me anymore. I guess they'd done playing at being a family with me."

The bitterness in her tone narrowed Regina's eyes and her heart ached at the sadness and regret in Emma's voice. Rumpelstiltskin had told her that all magic came at a price, but when she'd cast the curse to displace all of Fairy Tale Land, there had been little thought of consequences. Even less for the ramifications that stretched across time and space and taken Emma away from the parents she deserved.

"I'm sorry," Regina said. It was a paltry offering and her lips twisted over the words as Emma blinked up at her. She lifted a hand, sliding it from underneath the covers and pressed her palm against Emma's cheek. "I'm **so** sorry, Emma."

"What's done is done," Emma said, leaning her face into Regina's caress. A thumb stroked along her cheekbone and she let out a sigh. "Listen, you can either let your past dictate who you are, or you can fight it and be the person you think you should be. Those people…my foster parents…they didn't really want me. They took me in because they got money. I was a meal ticket, nothing more."

She moved, turning onto her back, Regina's arm slung around her shoulders. She'd never really understood why her parents had rejected her, leaving her by the side of a road where a young kid had found her. And in not understanding, she'd learned not to trust. Because if her own parents hadn't wanted her, then who else would?

"I know it sounds a little hollow, coming from me, but I often felt the same way about my mother. The things she did…the things she made **me** do…I don't think being a good parent has anything to do with blood."

Emma reached up, linking her fingers with Regina's. "Genetics mean nothing, right?" Turning her head, she glanced at the other woman and they shared a remembrance of a time when they were adversaries, not allies. As a rueful smile passed over Regina's lips Emma nestled back into the bed, settling her head onto Regina's shoulder.

"Some people are meant to be parents and some aren't," Regina said.

"I sure wasn't," Emma grunted. "I was just a stupid kid who got knocked up at eighteen. I was still a baby myself. I knew shit about raising my own."

"You did what was best for Henry. You gave him his best chance."

"Did I?" Emma's voice was laced with bitterness again.

"Yes," Regina said emphatically, squeezing Emma's fingers. "Emma, you did exactly the same thing as your own parents. You put Henry's survival before your own. You wanted to save him."

"I still do," Emma admitted. "He's such a good kid, Regina. And I…I love him. I love him as much as I did the day he was born, when they put him into my arms and I held him before they took him away."

She pulled her hand from Regina's grasp and scrubbed at her eyes with a fist, hating the tears that came so easily when she recalled the tiny creature in her arms. The prison hospital had been stark, the smell of disinfectant strong in the air. She had looked down at Henry, his red crinkled face contorting as he'd taken his first breaths and begun to cry.

And then they'd removed him, leaving her arms as empty as her heart.

"Nobody's ever going to take him away from you again. I promise you that."

"And nobody's going to take you away from me and Henry," Emma countered. She held Regina's hand up in front of her eyes, her gaze traveling over the slender, delicate fingers that she knew held unmeasured power. "If we have to go away somewhere…if we have to leave, then we do it together," she added firmly.

"Leave?" Regina echoed, a note of surprise lifting her voice. "And here's me thinking that you'd stopped running."

"I have," Emma retorted. "If we had to go; you, me and Henry, then it would be running **towards **something. Not running away."

"It's still running. It's still trying to escape the reality of who we are and what we've done. And it's not who you are anymore, Emma. You say you've fought your whole life? Well, so have I. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of being resentful."

Emma glanced back up at Regina and saw a grave expression cast a shadow over the other woman's face.

"When you lose control in your life, you try to grab it back as soon and as hard as you possibly can," Regina began slowly, taking a breath and letting it out in a long stream of air. "And nobody tried to control things…control **people** more than I did, Emma. I forced a lot of people to do a lot of things, but I couldn't force Henry to love me. I couldn't force you to love me either."

"I know," Emma said, frowning and playing absently with Regina's fingers, running her fingertips around and over them.

"I had to wait a long time for my happy ending," Regina mused. "So did you, and so did Henry. But now that we have it – now that we have each other, I want it to last as long as it can. Don't you see that?"

Now Emma moved, spinning around and sitting up in the bed. The furs that had kept them warm fell from her body as she shoved at her hair, letting out a frustrated groan.

"Of **course** I see that," she insisted. "I want it to last as long as it can, too. But time hasn't stopped here, Regina. And I'm afraid it might run out before we know it."

"Emma, dear, listen to me." Regina reached out and took Emma's hands in her own, holding them gently, thumbs brushing a line over their backs. "Snow is doing all she can. And what little grace period I've been offered might bring an opportunity to pay recompense."

"What if it doesn't?" Emma jerked her chin forwards, lip curling in dissent.

Regina smiled and tilted her head to one side, seeing the same recalcitrant expression that Henry had worn so often over the last decade. She'd always hated it on his features, but seeing it now on Emma's face, she couldn't help but feel strangely comforted by it.

"But what if it **does**?" she intoned, eyebrows lifting. "You and Henry have given back the one thing this world took away from me."

"And what's that?" Emma asked.

Regina smiled, eyes glistening with what Emma and Henry had put there. "Hope," she answered.

Emma stared at her. And, suddenly, she saw it: the light that Regina had been seeking all her life, how it illuminated everything inside her, bringing a newer dawn to whatever life they chose to live. For a moment, she basked in it and it lightened the weights around her heart. Then, pulling the other woman to her, Emma kissed Regina with tender gratitude.

It was only when she drew back that she realized she was cold. Glancing around the room, Emma scowled a little. She missed indoor heating. _And indoor plumbing_, she thought with a pained expression. She scooted down underneath the furs once more, tugging them up and over her body, Regina lying beside her.

Shadows from the gathering gloom outside crept through the window, stretching long, dark shapes across the floor. Emma lay still, listening to Regina breathe beside her. She could hear birdsong outside, a chorus to end the day and lull them to sleep. Emma had always lived in cities where her lullaby had been a cacophony of traffic, people and a hum of activity. Even in Storybrooke, she had felt the town close around her at night, almost cocooning her in civilization.

But here, it was quiet. _Too quiet_, she thought in agitation, turning onto her side and staring at Regina, lying still, eyes closed.

"How did you convince Snow to let you tutor me in magic?" she asked.

Regina's eyes flickered open and she gazed up at the ceiling for a long moment before she rolled over, facing Emma, their faces close on the pillow.

"I feared for the life of that frail old man she'd chosen for you," Regina said dryly. "You're not exactly the most patient woman in the world – in **any** world, actually."

"Hey!" Emma protested, but it was weak and lacking conviction. She remembered how angry working with Snow's sorcerer had made her, how frustrated she'd become. It was unsettling, she thought. Because those were the moments when her magic seemed to take advantage of her the most.

"I merely pointed out to dear Snow that when it comes to magic, she's not exactly an expert."

"And you are, I suppose?" Emma's eyebrows rose, but she couldn't help smiling as Regina inched closer, a questing hand sliding over her naked hip.

"The best," Regina said. Pride gleamed in her eyes, glittering in the half-light of the room. If magic was all she had left under her control, then she was going to enjoy how it felt. Even if she never intended to wield it.

Emma's eyes narrowed slightly, her mouth quirking up in a wicked smile. "Oh yeah?" she murmured, reaching for Regina. "And just how good **are** you, Your Majesty?"

Regina gave a self-satisfied smile that reminded Emma so very much of the haughty Mayor in Storybrooke, the battles they'd fought against one another. How she'd hated Regina at first, every attempt to foster a relationship with Henry met with fury, all contained beneath that smug grin that parted Regina's lips right now.

"Tomorrow you'll find out," Regina said quietly, her fingers beating an insistent tattoo over the swell of Emma's hip, dipping down towards her waist.

Moving quickly, Emma snatched at Regina, pulling her close for another kiss. This time it was more forceful, more laden with the tension that had crackled between them when first they met, all those months ago in Storybrooke.

By the time she leaned back, Emma was pleased to see that Regina was breathing hard, her cheeks a little flushed, her eyes dark.

"How about you show me right now?" she said.

"We're not talking about magic anymore, are we?" Regina chuckled, as her legs bumped up against Emma's.

The blonde let out a low laugh. "No," she answered. "We're really not."


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Charming was restless. He paced the floor of the bedchamber he shared with Snow, his boots falling heavily on stone. When he reached the window he leaned against the brick arch that framed it, a hand coming up to rub wearily over his face. It was getting dark outside, the mountains beyond the castle grounds becoming shadowed and heavy, their height looming in the distance and marking out the territory that was rightly Snow's. He remembered when they had been married, how he had deferred to her and never once called himself king, never once considered he could be. He wasn't even a prince, after all; just the son of a shepherd who had discovered almost limitless bravery in his quest for true love.

It was ironic, then, that all the traits he'd nurtured here had been ripped away from him, along with his wife and daughter. His mouth twisted with the memory and he swore silently to himself that he would never let that happen again. If his tentative hopes were misplaced; if Regina remained unchanged and was lying in wait to wreak havoc on this realm once more, then he would be ready. And he would _never_ let anyone hurt him, Snow or his family ever again. He may not have the royal lineage that Snow did, but Charming felt beholden to this realm, wanting to apply the same deliberate care towards it that he had done his farm.

He turned, glancing back towards the huge, canopied bed where his wife lay reading a book. Her eyes tracked across the page and she lifted a thumb to her lips, chewing briefly on her nail. Charming couldn't help smiling at her, even if the memories of their final days here were fraught with Snow's face, contorted in childbirth, his brain still echoing with her screams.

So much pain, he thought, frowning again. So much unnecessary hurt. For everyone.

"You're brooding."

The sound of Snow's voice made Charming take a breath, chin dropping to his chest as he let it out in a long sigh.

His wife looked up from her book, closing it slowly and setting it aside onto the ornate bedside table. Her eyes were kind, tinged with worry as she gazed at him and Charming was drawn to the gentle smile that curved the corners of her mouth. Snow was _so_ strong – much stronger than anyone had given her credit for in Storybrooke. The girl – woman – that he'd met in the Enchanted Forest had challenged him in all the ways that women here were never supposed to. She bucked tradition because she'd been forced to, not by her own choice. But it had, he supposed, been the making of her in a lot of ways. Had she not been hunted by Regina, accused of treason and murder, then she would never have hidden in the forest and they never would have met. Never fallen in love.

There was a tiny part of him that was almost grateful for it. Even if, he thought ruefully, his daughter had inherited many of his wife's more trying characteristics, almost specifically designed to test his patience in the alarmingly defiant ways. Especially when it came to love.

"What's wrong?" Snow asked, tilting her head to one side and looking at him with a curious expression crinkling her brow.

Charming crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his and stroking his fingertips over it with a practiced, gentle manner.

"I…I don't really know," he admitted, shoulders hitching in confusion. He felt her fingers close around his and the faintest of smiles passed over his mouth. She was still wearing the ring he'd given her when he'd proposed. Even in Storybrooke, she'd never taken it off. And that had to mean something, didn't it? That true love really could conquer all and survive when everything else had been snatched away.

Snow shifted in the bed, pushing herself up a little more and peering into her husband's eyes. Ever since the curse had broken, they had slipped back easily into their relationship; intimacy had never been a stranger to them and she had to wonder if the bond they'd brokered in saving one another had endured despite all of Regina's attempts to shatter it. The heart really was a mystery, she had decided; the home of all the love and pain a person could ever feel. And it was drawn to another in truth and beauty even if the head was uncertain and lost in the mists of confusion and ignorance.

"Why don't you try telling me?" She leaned closer to him, reaching out and laying her palm on his cheek. She relished the feel of him, the scratch of stubble on her skin, the inherent masculinity that her prince seemed to exude so easily. As his eyes met hers and glistened with a love that clenched at her heart even now, even after vows had been made and promises exchanged, Snow offered a smile of encouragement and waited.

"Ever since we came back here," Charming began hesitantly, shaking his head a little, "I've been having trouble sleeping."

Snow's mouth quirked up in a tiny smile. "Even in a palace, the beds aren't really like they were in Storybrooke, are they?" she joked.

Charming grinned, but it soon faded and he patted at her hand, grasped tightly in his own.

"I've been having dreams," he told her, his voice grave. He looked away from her around their bedchamber, his gaze taking in all the accoutrements and furnishings befitting their status. It was so different to where he'd begun; so different to where he'd ended up, too. And a part of him missed the easy, casual clothes of Storybrooke and the modern life they'd left behind.

"I can't make any sense of them," he said, turning back to his wife. "They're just fragments…bits and pieces of images I don't understand."

"What do you mean?" Snow asked, twin lines burrowing between her brow.

"Coming back here…trying to return to the lives we once led…we're supposed to be safe now. But I don't feel like we're safe."

"Is it because of Regina?" Snow said the other woman's name in a hushed, fearful tone and Charming pressed his lips together, frown deepening.

"I can't say that her possessing magic doesn't trouble me," he answered slowly. "And even if she **has** changed…even if she **wants** to, there's no real way of knowing whether that's the truth or not."

"I suppose we have to put our faith in something else, then," Snow said quietly. "Or in someone else."

"Emma."

"Our daughter," Snow added, nodding. "She's the product of true love; of **our** true love. And she loves Regina as much as I love you. She sees what we don't, I suppose."

She reached out again, cupping his face in her hand, a thumb trailing over his cheek. His hand moved up to cover hers and for a moment, he leaned into her caress, his heart aching as he felt years of nothingness yawn around him; years when he had lain in a hospital bed and been untouched, unloved, alone.

"I think…I think that's what worries me," he finally said, taking both of Snow's hands in his own and wrapping his fingers around them. At her confused look, he shook his head and tried not to think of the nights when he'd woken in a cold sweat, trying hard not to disturb Snow. Nights when the images burned into his dreams had struck an icy fear into his heart.

"Emma would do anything to protect Regina," Charming explained. "Just as I would do anything to protect you. I see her in my dreams. Our daughter, emerging from battle with a bloodied sword. And she's angry, Snow. So angry and full of hate."

"You're just worried about her, that's all," Snow said comfortingly. "It's just a dream."

"Is it?" Charming asked, eyebrows rising. "Snow, our daughter has lived her entire life without us. She's lived without love. And now that she has it, who's to say what she'd do to keep it?"

He shuddered, remembering Emma's face in his dreams, so full of rage that she didn't even look like herself; her features a twisted, dark mask. She had marched towards him, her lips moving soundlessly over words he couldn't understand. And her sword, held high and threateningly in the air, was stained with red. But it was the stench of evil that he recalled the most and he swallowed against the hazy memory now, lips turning downwards in distaste.

"Are you saying we should blame Regina for making Emma love her?"

"No," Charming said quickly. "If Henry and Emma can see the good in her…whatever's left of the good in her, then perhaps we should trust them. What I'm saying is that there's still evil in this realm. I can just…I can **feel** it, Snow. And I can't help wondering what sort of influence Regina might have on Emma, now that our daughter has magic."

"Regina's magic came from a very dark place," Snow told him. "You didn't know her before. She wasn't always an Evil Queen. Once upon a time, she was good. Kind. Gentle."

Her features softened as she thought back to a cold, dark night when she'd run from the stables in confusion as Regina and Daniel stared at her in horror.

"The first person who told me about true love was Regina," she said gently, her husband's face crumpling into bemusement. Nodding, she looked at him with the sympathy she'd stored up inside for all these years; a sympathy that rightly belonged to a desperate soul who had cursed them all.

"She told me that true love creates happiness. And she was right," Snow almost laughed, her heart full of Charming's nearness, of how they'd found one another again at someone else's behest and will. "Happy people don't want to hurt others, dearest. Happy people only want to share how they feel with everyone. I have to believe that if Regina is truly in love with our daughter, then she'll cast aside old behaviors and learn how to live peaceably."

"If she hurts Emma or Henry…" Charming growled, jaw hardening.

"I know," Snow said, her gaze darkening momentarily. "But Regina and Emma have hurt one another enough. And Henry has been hurting for most of his life. He has his mothers now and they love him enough to last a lifetime. You have to believe in that. We all do."

Charming looked at his wife for a long moment before letting go of her hands and climbing onto the bed beside her. He pulled her into his arms and she nestled against his chest, fingers splaying out over the loose shirt he wore, feeling the firm, reassuring solidity of his body beneath it. Her head sank onto his shoulder and she let out a contented sigh. She'd missed this.

"I can't get those dreams out of my head," he murmured. "I can't stop thinking about what dangers lie ahead, what sort of evil might still be lurking in this world. We didn't have magic in Storybrooke. There was nothing to tempt Regina. But here…"

He trailed off, his arm tightening around Snow.

"I want to believe that Regina has found her happiness," he said gently. "I want to believe that she could be a force for good in this land, that true love has changed her. But she was there in my dream too; smiling in victory. Just like she did when she took all of this away from us."

Snow leaned her hand against Charming's chest, rising up so that she could look into his face. He was worried; she could see that only too clearly in the sheen of his eyes, how his mouth twitched over concerns he couldn't quite voice.

"If there are battles to be fought," she said in a low, determined tone, "then we will fight them like we do everything. Together."

Charming slid his fingers through her hair, growing long, reminding him of how she'd looked on their wedding day. Love for her surged through his chest and he felt it wind around him, as magical and powerful as anything Regina could conjure up. It quelled the fear in his gut, calmed him and gave him hope. He pulled her back down against his chest and let out a sigh, leaning back against the plumped pillows and closing his eyes. Yes; he told himself, if there were indeed battles to be won, then he knew he wouldn't have to fight them alone. He'd never have to fight anything alone again. And perhaps, for tonight, that was enough.

XxxXxx

Henry sped down the corridor of the castle, swerving past a rather surprised custodian and leaping over the broom that was in his path. By the time he reached his destination, he was panting, barely slowing down at all as he barreled through the heavy wooden door and into the room beyond.

Two faces turned to greet him with dual expressions of surprise as he finally came to a halt in the center of the room. Trying to catch his breath, Henry swallowed huge lungfuls of air, his mouth working silently over words that bubbled to the surface.

Emma flushed a little, snatching at her pants that were only halfway up her legs. Fastening them, she frowned at Regina, resplendent in a dark red dress that Emma had decided was altogether too clingy and too distracting. Regina's curves undulated beneath layers of crushed velvet as she smiled indulgently at her son and waited for him to talk.

"Jeez, kid," Emma grunted. "Did nobody ever teach you to knock?"

Henry grinned brightly and shrugged. "I was making a dramatic entrance!" he chirped. "My mom used to do it all the time!"

He looked over towards Regina, who narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head. But she didn't really mean it, and her lips twitched with barely disguised amusement as Henry let out a breathy laugh. He didn't remember caring this much about his adoptive mother before; he certainly didn't remember ever wanting to. But the tentative relationship they were building now was based on honesty and a depth of emotion that Henry hadn't thought Regina capable of. He already knew that he didn't want to let it go. Ever.

"Yeah," Emma intoned, rolling her eyes. "I hardly think channeling the Evil Queen is the best life lesson you could learn." Her eyes met Regina's across the room. Emma saw the flicker of regret that shone briefly in shades of russet brown. But those days were gone now, the past further behind them every day. And every day, it was getting easier for Regina to move forwards into a life that she'd longed for; a life that had been taken from her as surely as she'd stolen everyone else's.

"Besides," Emma said, pulling on her leather jacket and shrugging it up over her shoulders, "dramatic entrance or not, it still kinda feels like barging in."

Henry kicked at the floor, a disconsolate expression clouding his features. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's fine, dear," Regina spoke for the first time, rising from her seat at the ornate dressing table and moving towards her son, sliding an arm around his shoulders. He took comfort in the gesture, squinting up at her as she pulled him close.

"Emma's a little grumpy this morning," she told him with a tiny smirk. "She's still adjusting to life here, but it's harder for her. She's never lived here before."

"Neither have I!" Henry said with emphasis, blinking up at his mother.

"You're ten," Emma grunted at him, folding her arms over her chest. "And you don't have a whole bunch of magic crap to deal with. This whole world is like an adventure playground to you."

She puffed out her cheeks at precisely the same time as her son, and Regina stifled a chuckle at the mirror image before her. She'd always hated seeing traces of Emma in Henry and vice versa, but now it gave her solace. Because she saw in Henry what she'd always railed against in Emma: a strong, fierce and indomitable love that was simply searching for a home.

Regina just never suspected that the home she'd been looking for would be here. Where it all started.

"Speaking of magic," Regina said, as Henry let out a huge sigh. "I believe that you're due for a lesson with me this morning."

Emma rolled her eyes but was wise enough not to say anything. She didn't mind having to spend time with Regina, but the thought of it being under the shadow of learning to use her magic bothered her. She could feel it all the time now, buzzing under her skin and prickling at the back of her neck. It was as though she'd been infected by a disease she didn't understand and, honestly, didn't really want to. Because she was certain that there was no cure powerful enough to make it go away for good.

"That's why I'm here," Henry said, extricating himself carefully from Regina's arm and moving towards Emma as she frowned at him in enquiry. "There are people down in the War Room," he said, gulping in a breath.

"People?" Emma shook her head. "What people?"

"Ruby…I mean – Red," Henry said hastily. "And Leroy. And the rest of the dwarves. I think Jiminy Cricket's there too."

"Oh, how wonderful," Regina remarked dryly. "The Royal Guard. And they brought the interfering little bug with them, too. How sweet. Come to offer platitudes and therapy, no doubt." Her lip curled with distaste at the mere thought of it. She might have made a vow to make things right, but if that involved long talks with Archie Hopper, then Regina wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't prefer the executioner's blade.

"We don't know that," Emma said to her, but she could see how Regina bristled at the mere thought of it and suppressed the sigh that rumbled in her chest. "What do they want?" she asked Henry, but the boy shook his head wordlessly and lifted his hands in the air, perplexed.

"Okay," Emma sighed, turning to reach for her sword, hanging in its scabbard over the back of a chair. "I guess we'd better go and find out, then."

She slung the belt over her shoulder, the sword bumping against her back. Her gaze met Regina's and she saw how the other woman was tense, her posture erect, the lines of her face sharpened in anticipation of what surely couldn't be good news.

Emma was starting to wonder if this world held anything else, especially when it came to Regina and her difficult relationship with the former citizens of Storybrooke.

It didn't help her mood at all. Patience didn't come easily to her – it never had. But she gritted her teeth and reminded herself yet again that the journey Regina had chosen for herself was a long road. Emma desperately hoped that it was a path they would be allowed to follow together.

Letting out an irritated sigh, she reached for the door, yanking it open. Henry sidled up next to her and slipped his hand into hers, his fingers squeezing gently. Despite her annoyance and an impending sense of doom, Emma found herself looking down at him and softening a little.

"It'll be okay," he said gently, a reassuring smile on his face. He nodded at her and Emma couldn't help smiling back at him. "Snow and Charming will keep mom safe. They won't let anyone hurt her."

"Thanks, kid," she murmured. "But that's kind of my job."

"No, it's not," Henry shook his head. He glanced back over his shoulder to where Regina stood, arms wrapped tightly around her torso. "It's **our** job," he added firmly.

Regina smiled at him with such tenderness that Henry shifted under gaze. She'd smiled at him a lot during his life, each one holding a range of emotions that he could never quite read; each one buried beneath secrets that had always remained hidden until Mary Margaret had given him the book of fairytales.

But now there was little guile in his adoptive mother's face now. There was no need for secrets anymore. And the smile she gave him was pure, filled only with undisguised love. He straightened a little underneath its light; his fingers tightened around Emma's with renewed purpose. Because although Regina had told him many times that she loved him, it was only now that he was able to believe it. And love was much more powerful than any of the dissenters in the entire realm; _that_ Henry knew beyond anything else.

XxxXxx

They could hear the babble from inside the War Room before they entered, a cacophony of people all talking at once, Snow's voice attempting to rise valiantly above them. As the doors swung open, all eyes turned to Emma, Henry and Regina.

Everyone paused mid-sentence and silence roared around the trio. Henry moved a little closer to Emma, even though he knew that the fierce gazes directed towards them weren't aimed at him. They were all fixed upon Regina. Henry could feel fear radiating from her and wrapping itself around him, a smothering, heavy blanket.

Snow was on her feet, leaning over the huge round table in the War Room, hands planted palm down onto its surface. Behind her, Charming stood tall, arms folded over his chest. As Emma hitched the sword further up over her shoulder, he proffered a tiny smile towards her but it flared all too briefly on his mouth before it disappeared altogether.

Shoving back his chair with a loud scraping noise, Leroy stood, lip curling as he stared at Regina.

"**This** is what we're talking about," he snarled, jabbing a finger into the air. He swung around to glare at Snow, even though his life here dictated deference. As Snow sank back into her seat, Leroy shook his head and frowned. "She's here as a **guest**?"

"She's here with me." Emma walked across the floor, drawing the attention of those seated around the table. Leroy let out a snort of dismissive laughter, but said nothing. Throwing up his hands, he dropped back into his seat and exchanged a knowing glance with the rest of the dwarves.

"So what is this?" Emma jerked her head towards Snow, jaw hard and determined. She'd expected to see the familiar faces gathered around the table sooner or later. If she was surprised at anything, it was only that it had taken this long for the rumblings she'd heard about to come to fruition. The High Council had been clear in their desire for retribution and it seemed that the feeling had spread like a blight throughout the land, poisoning any shred of forgiveness left that Regina might have gleaned for herself.

Her heart became heavy, leaden inside her chest as Emma came to a halt by the table, looking across it at her mother. If it came to a trial, then Regina would have no recourse. She'd not only cursed the entire land and all the people in it, but she'd taken lives, cut them short as surely as if she'd taken a sword and sliced through flesh and bone.

"What's going on?" Emma asked. "Is this another High Council meeting or a lynch mob?"

"Emma…" Snow sighed and Charming put his hand on her shoulder, a gesture of reassurance.

"No," Emma shook her head and held up a hand of dissent. "Come on, I want to know. Why are you all here?"

"The question should be why is **she** here?" Leroy spoke again, his voice little more than a growl as he glowered at Regina. "**She's** the one who made all of this happen. **She's** the one who made us all come back. She took away everything from us and now she's…what, treated like royalty?"

A murmur rose among those seated around the table and Emma shifted uncomfortably. He had a point. No matter who or what Regina was now, her past still loomed up behind her like a dark shadow, threatening to clutch at them all and swallow whatever good remained.

"Regina is here at my request," Snow said firmly, her voice holding a note of authority that Mary Margaret Blanchard's never had. She looked around the table, holding the gazes of those seated there. "She's under my daughter's protection and supervision and as long as she is, I will not have her harmed."

"Easier said than done." Sitting to Snow's right, Ruby spoke up for the first time, her face clouding as she looked past Emma towards Regina. "She might be safe here, but out there, people are confused and angry and they want…"

She moved in her seat, almost afraid to voice the bayings of the people that she'd heard on a daily basis since they'd all returned here. Nobody was happy. Nobody could quite understand what had happened to them and their displaced confusion had found a home in the blame they chose to put firmly onto Regina's shoulders.

"They want blood," Ruby finished simply, a tiny frown settling onto her forehead.

"Yeah?" Emma straightened, her hand moving to rest on the hilt of her sword. "They're gonna have to come through me first."

"And me!" Henry's voice piped up from where he stood with Regina.

Snow said nothing, but her brow crinkled into a frown as she exchanged a concerned glance with her husband. The more the people wanted to punish Regina, the more determined Henry and Emma were not to let that happen. And while their devotion to Regina was admirable, Snow wasn't entirely sure it was wise.

"It's alright Henry, dear," Regina moved forwards, lips parted in a lazy smile and her voice a drawl of assumed confidence as she swept across the floor. "There won't be any need for that."

She came to a halt by Emma and took her time in looking around the table, meeting each pair of eyes trained on her features. One by one, each occupant looked away and she couldn't help the faint thrill of victory that glimmered in her chest. Whatever she was to them now, they were still scared of her. That knowledge alone helped to quell the trepidation that she'd felt when first they entered the room.

No; Regina would never have their love. And the power over them that had always been enough in the past now weighed upon her, a Pyrrhic victory where she herself was the spoils, the ravaged battlefield, a defeated monarch.

But she was determined not to let any of _them_ see that.

"If you're going to kill me, then kill me," Regina said coldly, meeting Ruby's gaze across the table and holding it, the girl staring back at her with a courage that was impressive, if misplaced.

"Regina," Archie Hopper said, who had reverted to his fairytale form and was currently hovering by Snow's shoulder, "killing you isn't the right – "

"Then what is it you want?" Regina bit back at him sharply. "What must I do to appease you all? To give you the satisfaction you so **obviously** crave?"

There was a coquettish swagger to her stance, hands automatically moving to her hips as she lifted her chin and stared down at the people gathered around the table. Even Charming blinked under the onslaught of her aggressive sexuality, looking askance at his daughter and wondering how on earth she could love such a creature. Because even if Regina had changed, the woman she'd been in this realm remained like a stain on her soul, coloring her features as she stared boldly across the table.

"How about we go back to the killing?" Leroy snarled, throwing up his hands. "I liked that idea."

"Now you listen to me," Emma stepped forwards, her fingers turning white as she gripped her sword, flexing around the handle as though she was seconds away from unsheathing it. "She's not dying. Nobody is. And the next person who even mentions it is going to find themselves wishing they hadn't, okay?"

"So what now, then? We let her do whatever she wants? How is that anything like punishment?" It was Granny who voiced dissent this time, stiffening in her seat and scowling at Regina with a heavy gaze that would have reduced mere mortals to a quivering wreck. But the Evil Queen bowed to no one; she never had. Offering herself up as a willing sacrifice was, apparently, the wrong decision to make. But Regina knew that she was damned either way – these people didn't really seem to know what they wanted.

"Do you think she's not sorry?" Emma said, her voice strained. "Do you think she doesn't know what she did to you…**all** of you?"

Her gaze traveled slowly around the table and she noticed how each and every person avoided it. _Yes_, she nodded silently to herself. Vengeance wasn't quite the same as justice, and in the rush of blood that heightened their desire to cut Regina down where she stood, it seemed that the residents of Fairy Tale World had forgotten that.

"If you kill her," Emma continued, "then you become just like her. Like she used to be. And if you think that's okay, then please, go right ahead and come at me. Because I'm going to defend her to my last breath. **That's** what good people do."

There was an air of chastisement that settled over the table for a brief moment, some heads hanging a little lower, a few people sighing heavily. But it was Leroy whose lips curled in distaste as he looked at Regina, standing behind Emma.

"She's really done a number on you," he said. "I guess it gives a whole new slant on the term sleeping with the enemy, right, princess?"

"Shut up," Emma whispered, but it was barely audible in the huge room. She felt anger rise inside her like an uncontrollable tidal wave of emotion, too big and too strong for her to resist it. Her face was white, features sharpened as she ground her teeth together and clenched at the handle of her sword.

And now she did draw it, the metal catching the light as she lifted it in an arc, pointing it towards Leroy. It didn't matter that he scrambled backwards, chair scraping over the floor. It didn't matter that his hands rose in submission and Snow rose from her seat, darting forwards, a stricken look in her eyes.

No; none of that mattered as the venom inside Emma boiled through her veins and finally broke the surface, twisting her lips and forcing a cry of frustrated ire from her mouth.

"Shut up!" she roared, jabbing the sword forwards so that the tip of it touched Leroy's leather vest. "You shut up or god help me I'll do it for you!"

She might have said more; might have done more. But the burning sensation rushing down her arm towards her outstretched hand was too much to ignore and, for a fleeting second, Emma gave herself over to it. She succumbed to the rage that she'd kept inside for so many years – anger towards her parents who, even now, were staring at her as though they didn't know her. And maybe they didn't. Maybe nobody did. Maybe nobody _could_, not ever since this thing that had existed inside her for god knows how long had awakened.

It reared up now, almost a living, breathing entity and Emma lifted her hand in front of her eyes, dropping the sword. She barely heard the clang as it hit the floor, staggering backwards as sparks began to fly from her fingertips. But she couldn't – wouldn't – stop it and as the gathered courtiers began to back away from the table, Emma wanted only to punish them, to use whatever powers she might have to make them stop, make them see what she did, make them understand.

And if she had to force them into it, she would.

Snow reached out to her, moving around the table until her hand almost touched Emma's arm.

"Emma," she said, her voice tense and fearful, "this isn't the way."

But Emma snatched herself away from Snow's touch, away from the mother's love that she'd been denied for so long. There seemed little point in accepting it now. Not when she was still so angry at Snow for abandoning a baby to the cruelties of a world that had failed her.

"It's not **your** way," Emma hissed through gritted teeth. "But it doesn't mean it's wrong." As Snow approached her once more, Emma flung out her arm in an almost careless gesture. Snow was catapulted across the room, crashing into the body of her husband who leapt forwards to catch her. They clung to one another, horrified eyes staring at their daughter, barely recognizing her at all.

"Stop."

Fingers closed over Emma's arm, tightening in a firm grip. Wild-eyed and tight-lipped, Emma whirled around to see Regina by her side, holding onto her with a grasp as strong as her will.

"Just stop," Regina repeated, dark eyes roaming Emma's features as though she was the only person in the room.

"I…" Emma began, then clenched her teeth together again, trying hard to resist the urge to hurt, control and conquer everyone in the room.

"Let it go, Emma," Regina continued talking in a soft voice, little more than a whisper. "I'm here, and Henry too. Look." She stood aside; Henry was watching them closely, confusion wrinkling his brow. He clearly wanted to run to them, to complete the family unit that was theirs, no matter how dysfunctional. But even if his gaze held yearning, his body was still, tense in a reticence to undergo the same fate that his grandmother had done.

"Emma," Regina said one more time. "Just let it go."

Looking into Regina's eyes, Emma only saw love. And she'd fought _so_ hard for it, to gain it and keep it, that she knew it was more powerful than anger. A salve on her soul. Perhaps the only thing that could knit those tattered pieces back together.

Breathing hard, Emma blinked and shook her head a little, as though emerging from some kind of dreaming state. The room around them blurred back into focus and she turned, mouth falling open as she saw the hurt in Snow's gaze, fixed upon her.

"Shit," Emma murmured, reaching out. "I'm so – so sorry." But Snow flinched from her and Emma's heart sank as a clamor rose in the room, everyone talking at once.

This time, it was Regina who stood tall, stepping forwards and raising her hand into the air.

"Enough!" she shouted, her voice ringing from the rafters with the depth and command that it always had done in this world. Silence followed almost immediately, a default position for all those gathered around the table.

"You want your pound of flesh?" she said, meeting Snow's gaze and holding it. "Then you shall have it. However you deem appropriate. But first, your queen has requested that I train Emma in the ways of magic. And as a show of good faith, that's what I shall do."

"What?" Ruby's head snapped around and she stared at Snow in amazement. "You…you trust **her** with magic? Isn't that what caused this whole thing in the first place? Abusing it?"

Snow glanced at her friend before her gaze returned to Regina, their eyes meeting in accord over the heads of those seated at the table. And she remembered the past – not the broken relationship of a motherless girl and an abandoned young woman. No; she remembered beyond that, stretching back through time to when Regina had told her about true love and what it could create. She thought she saw it for a second, hovering between her daughter and the woman who had taken her away, and it gave her hope.

"Yes." The word was out of her mouth before she even knew she was saying it. Trust in the love that Regina and Emma shared. Trust in the fact that love could endure anything. _Everything_.

But Ruby was unsatisfied, twisting in her seat to glare at Regina with resentment and not a little scorn.

"You," she said disparagingly, "are going to teach Emma to use magic wisely?"

"Why yes, dear," Regina drawled. "I could teach you a few things too. I'm sure I can find time for some obedience training in my schedule. I'll even spread some paper on the floor for you." A single eyebrow lifted as Ruby's mouth fell open and Regina couldn't help the smirk that pulled at her lips.

Turning, her smile fell as she glared at Leroy. "And I'll thank **you** to keep a civil tongue in your head," she barked. "Have some respect for the royal line you claim to love so dearly, or the next time a sword is pointed at your chest, I'll be on the other end and believe me, dear, **I** won't exercise nearly as much control as your princess."

Leroy shifted in his seat, glowering at her but opting for contemptuous silence. He doubted that Regina could wield a sword but certainly wasn't about to find out. Just in case. Beside him, Happy stifled a nervous chuckle. After all, it wasn't every day Grumpy was quieted, even it was by the Evil Queen, he thought agitatedly.

"Come, dear," Regina said gently to Emma, as the blonde swiped her sword from the floor and clutched it against her chest. With a tenderness that the entire room found unsettling, she guided Emma back towards the doors where Henry stood, staring at her with a newfound sense of wonder. Regina put her arm around his shoulders and the three of them left the room, not looking back even once.

"You totally kicked their asses!" Henry blurted in a stage whisper as they exited, looking up at Regina with bright eyes. "That was awesome!"

"We're a family," Regina said absently, stroking a hand over his hair. "And family always sticks together."

"Try explaining that to my mother," Emma said weakly, as the doors to the War Room crashed shut behind them.

Regina let out a tiny sigh and watched as Emma shoved her sword back into its scabbard. The blonde looked defeated, even a little shaky. Regina nodded to herself; she knew what it felt like to have magic rush through the veins – she also knew how it felt when the euphoria of using it seeped from the body, leaving it craving more.

"All the more reason to begin your lessons," she said briskly, ignoring Emma's rolling eyes and the way she puffed out her cheeks in reluctance.

Henry giggled. "You're going back to school!" he exclaimed in glee, pushing at Emma's arm.

"As are you," Regina said, rather enjoying the expression of horror that replaced his toothy grin. "I've asked Snow to procure you a tutor. Your grandfather might think that teaching you how to swordfight is a priority, but thankfully your grandmother and I agree that learning about the kingdom where you live takes precedence. Your lesson begins in ten minutes. Now run along and make yourself presentable, Henry."

The boy turned to Emma with aggrieved eyes, appealing to her for help but she shrugged helplessly and kicked at the floor with her boot, an apologetic upturn to her mouth.

"Sorry kid," she said. "When it comes to this kind of stuff, your mom's in charge."

Grumbling to himself, Henry's shoulders fell. But he turned on his heel and trotted obediently away down the corridor, leaving Emma and Regina alone.

"So…" Emma said, drawing the word out and shaking her head. By the time she met Regina's eyes, she knew that one thing was certain: either she would learn to control her powers, or they would control her. And if they did, then there was every chance she would be lost to them. The Savior who needed saving. From herself.

The irony of _that_ hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Quite," Regina hummed, answering an unspoken question between them.

"Can you help me?" Emma said, looking intently into Regina's face. "Please…can you?"

Regina had heard many pleas in her life, uttered in the moments before magic had obliterated free will and imprisoned choice in a cage of her choosing. She'd always ignored them before, but as Emma reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing tightly, Regina knew that she could never deny this woman anything. But she more than anyone knew the dangers that lay in casting spells and allowing magic to flow freely through a heart that simply wasn't strong enough to resist it.

"I hope so," she said softly. "For both our sakes, Emma, I hope so."

XxxXxx


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

Regina made a dissatisfied clucking with her tongue. "Concentrate, Emma," she said impatiently, her tone holding a note of reprove that was rather more like an irritated schoolteacher and less like a helpful lover than either woman would have liked.

The fire in the grate crackled loudly as Emma shifted in the huge winged armchair opposite Regina and huffed out a disconsolate sigh, shoulders dropping from the tense posture she'd adopted.

"I'm **trying**," she whined, her lower lip pushing forwards in the exact same way that Henry's did when he garnered criticism from his adoptive mother.

"You're really not," Regina said in gentle admonishment. She could see that Emma was still unsettled by what had happened in the War Room; that the White Knight had been bested by her own anger and lack of control.

If she were honest, then Regina was unsettled by it too. Emma was a broiling sea of turmoil beneath the calm surface she liked to present to others. And perhaps nobody saw that as clearly as Regina – Emma's outburst in the War Room and her subsequent spurt of magic had proven that they weren't so dissimilar. Not really. At the back of her mind, Regina wondered if Snow didn't already know that. If her decision to allow Regina to teach Emma how to curb and control her powers wasn't, in part, made by the recognition that if _anyone_ could stem the tide of rage that threatened to pull Emma under and swallow her whole, then it was the very person who had been its victim once before.

A tiny shiver worked its way down Regina's spine as she remembered how she'd first used magic. How she'd been encouraged and guided into its pitch black depths by a hand greater than her own. There had been nobody there to stop her, to give rise to any caution or to pull her back from the brink of her own self-hatred and desperate, fruitless anger.

Her mouth hardened as she stared across the hearth at Emma. She wasn't about to let that happen to the White Knight. Because nobody deserved _that_ sort of damnation.

Emma was holding her hand out in front of her, fingers splayed in the air. Her features were set in determination as she stared at her hand as though half-expecting it to burst into flames. Finally, she gave a resigned sigh and let her hand fall onto her leg with a loud slap.

"I can't," she said, shaking her head.

Regina leaned forwards in her chair. "And the more you tell yourself that," she said as gently as she could, "the more it will be true. Magic isn't just about ability, Emma. It's about belief. Emotion. How much you want it."

A dark look fluttered over her features as she sat back in her chair and turned, gazing into the flames leaping in the grate. Oh, she'd wanted it alright. More than anything else in the world. That first time…Regina had wanted it _so_ much. And all it had taken was a little push. One little shove and she'd felt the magic flowing through her, purified by rage, strengthened by futility.

"That's just it," Emma said bluntly, folding her arms over her chest. "I **don't** want it. I didn't ask for it."

"Whether you like it or not, dear, you have it." Regina's tone was a little harder now, one eyebrow rising critically. "And the more you try to fight it, the harder it will be for you, in the end."

"Harder than hurting my mother?" Emma bent forwards, resting her elbows onto her knees, face drawn in lines of anxiety across her brow and around her mouth. "If you hadn't stopped me…"

She didn't need to finish her thought. It was written across the planes of her face, clouded in doubt and worry.

"I just…god, I just totally lost it," Emma muttered to herself. The corners of her mouth turned down in disgust and she glanced up at Regina, silent and waiting in the chair opposite her.

"And it felt good," she whispered, confused by the memory.

Catching herself, Emma swallowed visibly and shook her head with a defiant, firm gesture. "But it won't…it won't happen again," she asserted.

"Ignoring it won't make it go away," Regina said. "And however it made you feel – "

"I **loved** it!" Emma blurted in a strangled tone. Her eyes were wide, almost begging for punishment in the rush of knowing how wrong it was to feel so powerful.

She held Regina's gaze for a long moment, watching how the firelight danced flecks of gold through brown. Emma thought she saw a glint of envy in those eyes, the faintest thread of jealousy weaving through a veiled look that momentarily shadowed Regina's features.

Emma blinked, uncertain as to what it meant. By the time she opened her eyelids, it was gone and Regina had returned to her inscrutable self.

"You loved the feeling of power it gave you," Regina finally said. It was unclear whether it was an admission or an accusation.

Emma shrugged. "I guess," she said reluctantly.

"The feeling that nobody could hurt you ever again?"

Regina could see from the way Emma avoided her gaze that she'd hit a nerve. It was Emma's most vulnerable point, the only place in which her armor was weak enough to be penetrated with a near deathly blow. Being hurt so badly by her past had made Emma erect barriers to anything that might represent a threat to the future she'd rooted in her family. And magic? Magic encroached upon the idyll that Emma perceived in her relationship with Regina and Henry.

Emma stood, moving closer to the fire and holding out her hands to feel its warmth on her palms. She could feel Regina's watchful eyes on her, feel the understanding in them and, yes, the forgiveness too. It was a clemency she hadn't yet been able to give to herself and despite the fire's heat, Emma shivered.

"I didn't want them to hurt you," she said, staring into the yellow firelight.

"Of course not, dear," Regina said, but her voice was gentle, uncommonly kind. "But it was more than that, wasn't it?"

"I'm…I'm angry," Emma admitted, her voice hitching over the words. "I'm angry all the time."

Regina knew exactly how that felt; precisely how anger would sit underneath everything else, tainting and coloring all thoughts, words and deeds. She also knew how it had taken root inside her too, how it had flourished and grown, winding tendrils of hate and vengeance around her heart. Around what had remained once Daniel was taken from her.

"I'm afraid of it. Of the – the magic and the anger and…" Emma's voice trailed away as she hunched her shoulders, miserable and shamefully pained at her confession.

"I know. I was too."

Emma whirled around, staring at Regina with disbelieving eyes. Her mouth fell open but she was wordless.

"I was younger than you when I first used magic," Regina said, rising from her chair and moving towards Emma. "And I was angry, too, Emma. I was **so** angry…"

Regina clasped her hands together in front of her and inclined her head a little. She wasn't sure words existed to fully describe how she'd felt, trapped into a marriage she didn't want and a life she'd never asked for. And her mother, orchestrating everything behind the scenes with magic as dark as her heart.

"There are times when I wish I'd never learned how to use my powers." Regina lifted her head, eyes glittering in the firelight. "Magic always comes with a price."

"Yeah?" Emma took a step closer to Regina, peering into the other woman's face. "And what was yours?"

Regina smiled sadly. "Myself," she said simply. "I lost the person I was…who I should have been."

"Because of magic," Emma spat, resentment rising in her chest.

"Because I allowed my anger to eat away at everything good." Regina shook her head and frowned a little. "Magic fueled by rage is very powerful indeed."

"All the more reason not to use it then," Emma said, folding her arms over her chest.

"All the more reason to learn to control it properly," Regina corrected her.

"And what will **my** price be?" Emma jerked her chin forwards, eyes darkening. "How will **I** pay for having this magic inside me?"

Regina tilted her head to one side, scrutinizing Emma's face carefully. Then she lifted a hand and placed her palm against the blonde's cheek, a thumb stroking over Emma's cheekbone.

"Magic has been making you pay your whole life," she murmured, apology widening her eyes. "Don't you think that's enough?"

Emma leaned into Regina's touch a little, her arms unfolding to reach out and rest gently on the other woman's hips. For all that Regina had done, for all the evil that had been enacted by her hand, it was ironic that _her_ touch was the one thing that soothed Emma the most. That Regina's presence in her life had become the one constant upon which she could rely, even when everything was changing around them.

That notion terrified Emma beyond anything else – beyond magic, or fairytales, or the world they now inhabited. Her entire life, she'd never been dependent on anyone or anything.

And now she knew she couldn't manage a day without Regina, or without Henry.

Emotional entanglements had always made her feel trapped. But lately, they had been her only escape.

"If you let it, your anger will consume you," Regina said in a near-whisper.

"I don't know how to stop it," Emma told her, voice strained. "I don't know how to stop feeling so – so mad all the time. And that's when the magic seems the strongest."

Her eyes were worried as she moved away from Regina, hugging her arms around herself and facing the fire once more.

"Does that mean I'm – like, evil or something?" she asked in a pitiful tone. "Is this magic just…is it my badness coming out?"

"Emma, no!" Regina darted forwards, hand outstretched. But it paused mid-air as she remembered how easy it had been to believe the same of herself. Because if she had _truly_ been good, then love wouldn't have been ripped from her heart as quickly and surely as her mother had torn Daniel's heart from his chest.

She moved again now, this time sliding her arms around Emma's waist, standing close behind her so that their bodies were touching.

"No," Regina said again softly. "Whatever they told you, Emma, they were wrong. Whoever made you feel that you were bad was wrong. People are capable of doing bad things, but it doesn't mean they're beyond saving."

"But – "

"I think I can speak about that with some authority," Regina cut in to Emma's protestation, her tone sardonic but her fingers gentle as they splayed out over Emma's torso.

Letting out a breath of laughter, Emma relaxed a little, leaning back against Regina and covering the other woman's hands with her own. This sort of intimacy had never come easily to her – the casual affection that she'd seen in other couples and envied, but ultimately rejected. But the heat of the fire and the warmth of Regina at her back surrounded her with a special type of comfort that she realized she'd always craved. And as Regina's chin rested lightly onto her shoulder, breath tickling at her cheek, Emma closed her eyes and reveled in it for a blessed moment.

"It's hard to believe the good when there's nobody to remind you of it," Regina murmured sadly. "When there's nobody holding out their hand to pull you back from the clifftop, there's nothing to stop you falling over the edge."

Emma shivered, remembering the rain in Storybrooke; the lone figure standing at the edge of an abyss and how she'd reached out in fear and urgency. And now _she_ was one on the brink, resisting the urge to spread her arms and freefall into whatever darkness her magic might offer. The mere thought of it terrified her; the temptation to succumb to it horrifyingly close to fruition.

"Did you fall over the edge?" she asked in a small voice, knowing what the answer would be before Regina sighed against her shoulder, fingers moving against Emma's.

"Faster and further than you can possibly imagine, dear."

Emma frowned. "Then what stopped you. I mean – what made you want to change…to start climbing back up again?"

"Henry. You."

Linking her fingers through Regina's, Emma held on tightly. "And what's going to stop **me**?" she whispered.

Regina chuckled, her breath flitting warm and sweet over Emma's neck. "In this land, Emma, there are many kinds of magic, each one powerful in its own way. But do you know what the most powerful kind of magic is?"

Emma shrugged, nonplussed.

"True love," Regina said. "And you, Emma, are created from it. It's in your blood, racing through every cell of your body. Nothing about your magic could possibly be bad because nothing about **you** is bad."

"Easy for you to say," Emma blurted grumpily.

"Actually, it's not," Regina said. "Being good brought me nothing but heartache for so long that I forgot how to recognize it, in the end. Magic feeds off the strongest of our emotions. And I know that you're angry, dear, but I also know that it's not who you are."

"No? It sure feels like it."

"Do you love me, Emma?"

"What?" Emma stiffened in surprise, moving against Regina's body behind her. "Of **course** I do! How can you even – "

"Then let that guide you. Think about our son, who loves you so much he could find it in his heart to forgive me. Think about how you changed me, the Evil Queen," Regina let out a regretful huff of air and took one of Emma's hands in her own, holding it out in front of the blonde.

"I didn't know how to love very well," Regina admitted, turning Emma's hand over in the firelight. "I certainly didn't think anyone could ever really love **me**, either. But then you came along and reached out your hand. So that's what I'm doing now. All you have to do is take it."

Emma looked along the length of her arm, to where Regina's hand lay underneath her own, palm up. A tingling sensation began in the tips of her fingers, buzzing and licking like a flame across her skin. She took a breath, held it, then let it out again in a long, slow stream. Her heart began to pound unreasonably quickly in her chest, accompanied by a prescient fear of what magic might do to her, should she let it.

"Sssh." Regina's mouth was against her ear and Emma trembled underneath lips that pressed briefly against her neck. "Don't fight it, Emma. Close your eyes. Let the good out."

Emma squeezed her eyes tight shut, almost too afraid to watch as a glow emerged from her fingers and covered her entire hand. Images flitted through her head: Henry as a newborn, held in her arms as she gazed down at his perfect little face; the foster parents who had taken her in and presented her with a tricycle for her third birthday; the first time anyone had told her that they loved her; the first time Regina had said it. A strange feeling entered her chest and wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing as softly and gently as Regina's hand on her waist.

Her pulse slowed, her breathing became even and she felt herself smile as she remembered how Snow had held her close, crying against her neck as mother and daughter were reunited at last. So much love; so much unadulterated care and happiness. And she'd never really let herself feel it at all; never believed that she deserved to.

"There," Regina's voice broke into her thoughts and Emma opened her eyes at last. "Look what you did."

Hovering in the air before them in a rippling swathe of bright blue magic, a ball of energy caught and reflected the orange and yellow flames in the fireplace. It shone like diamonds, glittering and throwing forth shards of light that shot into the air and dissipated into the ether.

"I…oh…I did that?" Emma asked in a hushed, incredulous tone.

"Yes."

"But what…I mean, what about you? Aren't you using your, you know, your powers or something?"

Regina withdrew her hand and placed it back around Emma's waist. "No, dear. I promised I wouldn't. This is all you. Anger might make you feel strong, but it's a false friend. It only seeks to take, not to give. Real power comes from resisting it."

Emma blinked at the ball of energy, slowly bobbing up and down in the air, connected to her fingertips as though by an invisible stream. And she did feel strong; she felt the magic coursing through her in a way that it never had done before, lighting her up, vibrating through every part of her body.

But in the second that she acknowledged it, she was also afraid of it. Before her eyes, the ball of energy began to lose shape, flickering around the edges and crackling with uncontrolled sparks. Emma snatched her hand back to her body, stumbling back against Regina as the magical light faded, then disappeared with a loud pop.

Head lolling back against Regina's shoulder, Emma sucked in a huge breath, nausea rising in her gut and twisting her lips.

"Dizzy…" she muttered, as magic left her and she was overwhelmed by its absence. "What the hell?"

"It's alright," Regina soothed. "Sometimes it can leave you a little….well, the after-effects of magic aren't exactly a precise science but it takes some getting used to."

Emma's skin crawled with sensitivity. She squirmed in Regina's embrace, turning to face her, swallowing over the thickness in her throat, the flood of pure emotion that rocketed through her chest.

"It wasn't like this before," Emma breathed heavily, her hands inching up Regina's arms.

"That charlatan your mother procured for you could barely walk, let alone teach you how to use your magic responsibly," Regina remarked bluntly.

"Yeah…" Emma found that she was fascinated by the velvet beneath her fingers, by the swell of Regina's body against her own, by the heat emanating from her own skin, a flush blooming on her cheeks. "God, Regina, what did you do?"

"Why, nothing, dear," Regina laughed, but Emma clutched her closer, bumping their hips together and dragging a hand up over the other woman's dress to plunge into her hair.

When she tugged Regina's mouth onto her own, Emma felt a sharp pull inside her, a thrumming of desire that shivered its way down her body to settle between her thighs. She pushed her tongue past Regina's lips, demanding entrance without restraint, moaning softly as their kiss deepened. She was hungry for Regina, needy for her touch, her mouth, her body. And as she broke their kiss and gazed into dark eyes, Emma smiled again.

"I want you," she growled, plucking at Regina's dress with hasty, greedy fingers. "I just…god, I want you."

"And that's another side effect of the magic," Regina said, oddly calm. "It can leave you feeling somewhat…" She paused, frowning as she searched for the right words; hesitating in her willingness to admit that she craved the feeling for herself.

"Horny?" Emma supplied, pushing Regina back with a firm, heavy touch. Regina's legs bumped up against the chair she'd been sitting and she half-sat, half-fell into it.

"I'm not sure I'd put it quite like that," she gasped, as Emma dropped to her knees and hooked her fingers under the hem of Regina's dress, sliding it up her legs and pushing it halfway up her thighs.

"Why not? It's the truth," Emma grunted, scraping her nails down the length of Regina's legs until she grabbed the other woman's knees and wrenched them apart. The moan that escaped Regina's mouth brought a gratified smirk to Emma's mouth before she bent to lathe a line of wet heat from knee up inner thigh.

"Emma," Regina ground out, one of her hands reaching out, fingers sinking into tumbling blonde locks of hair. "I'm not sure this is what your mother had in mind when she allowed me to teach you magic."

"Lesson time is over," Emma lifted her head and gazed up at Regina, her eyes bright with the last vestiges of power that were still running rampant through her veins. "Now, how about you sit back, shut up and let **me** teach **you** a thing or two."

XxxXxx

Snow paused in the doorway to the makeshift classroom where Henry was poring over a book, almost hidden behind a huge stack of volumes that contained assorted histories of their land. She remembered being schooled in them as a child, how she'd yawned and craved for the open air outside, the pounding of her horse's hooves and the freedom that had never been taken from her. After her mother died, Snow had been indulged in almost every whim that she expressed. Her father, grief-stricken and lonely, had transferred his affections to her, desiring only that his daughter was happy. He told her that she was the fairest of all, just like her mother in thought, word and deed, and Snow blossomed in the light of such love, like a flower opening its petals to the sunshine.

Sighing softly to herself, Snow frowned a little. Her idyllic childhood had lacked only one thing: a mother. And no amount of indulgence, caregiving or love from her father or, indeed, the entire kingdom could compensate for that. An endless trail of would-be wives were paraded before her father, each one more vain and selfish than the last until Leopold had all but given up on ever finding a suitable candidate who could give his daughter the maternal presence she craved so much.

_Until Regina_, Snow reminded herself, a sad pang of hurt echoing deep in her chest. And she'd fallen in love with Regina almost instantly, drawn to the young woman's strength and courage, her tenderness and innocent explanation of true love. Snow had never forgotten that night – she doubted she ever would. She clung to it now more than ever, wanting to believe that even after all these years, there were remnants of who Regina had been that still remained. That were lying dormant and waiting to be brought to life by the love that Regina had been starved of.

The fact that it was her daughter and grandson who had been the catalysts for that love still confused her. In the memories that still plagued her, those days and nights when Regina had only pretended to love, Snow wondered why she hadn't seen the woman's pain. Why she hadn't sought to assuage it; why she'd failed to see that Regina's heart was broken almost beyond repair, leading her to enact such terrible vengeance on a foolish child who believed in the beauty of true love.

Snow had always felt victimized by Regina; the innocence of her youth lingering into an existence that had driven her away from court, away from all the things that had once given her succor and strength. Running for her life, Snow had wondered at Regina's rage, hidden for so many years and layering lie upon lie in the relationship she thought she'd had with her stepmother. She'd been righteous, firm in the belief that Regina was evil, that all the good had been removed from her life.

And perhaps it had, Snow sighed. Perhaps Regina had been given no other choice but to exact such an impassioned revenge upon the girl who suffered the least; the girl who had unerringly ruined everything.

Snow had never really allowed herself to feel much guilt about Regina's life. She'd been too trapped by her own sense of injustice, by the loss of a stepmother she'd loved too much to really know, certainly too much to forgive.

But now, guilt crept across the back of her neck, prickling uncomfortably. Because nobody turned away from the good in their life without help. And Snow knew that by her own hand, she had aided and abetted Regina as surely as if she'd killed Daniel herself.

"Your Majesty." The teacher whom Snow had employed to school Henry bowed graciously, his long coat sweeping across the floor. She offered him a faint smile – truth be told, she was still trying to get used to the manners of this world again. In Storybrooke, she had been one of many, blending in with the citizens of the town, their equal. But here, she was elevated beyond that life, the customs and gentrified etiquette of this world returning more easily to some than to others.

"Hey!" Henry lifted his head from the book he was reading, giving Snow a bright smile that she returned much more easily than she had done the tutor's obsequious grimace. It was odd, really, that the one person who didn't truly belong to this world had now become her touchstone in it.

"Henry," Snow moved into the room now, crossing the floor and putting her hand onto the boy's shoulder. "How's the schoolwork going?"

"He's a good student, your Majesty," the teacher offered, as Henry quirked a look at him and then squinted up at Snow with a toothy grin.

"He always was," Snow said warmly, patting Henry's head.

She nodded to the tutor and he shuffled from the room at her implied dismissal. Then she sank into the chair opposite Henry, shoving the pile of books in front of him to one side so that she could see him across the wooden surface. She picked absently at the aged table with slender fingers, Henry's gaze tracking over her features before he closed the book in front of him and waited patiently for her to speak.

"How are the history lessons coming along?" Snow said in a tone much lighter than she felt.

Henry shrugged. "Okay, I guess. It's not…it's not really like my book of fairytales though." His face crumpled over the names and events that had never made it into his world; the stories that nobody had ever told because, it seemed, they simply weren't worth knowing. The shadows they cast on the belief system that had been his lone motivation back in Storybrooke flitted across his face as he glanced across the table at Snow. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the fastenings on his jacket, twisting the wooden buttons around absent-mindedly.

Snow smiled at him and clasped her hands together on the table. "Sometimes I wish I'd never given you that book, Henry," she began in a small voice of regret. "Maybe if you'd had the chance to get to know your mother properly, things might have been different."

"Emma?" Henry asked, a frown burrowing between his eyes.

"No," Snow said, shaking her head. "Regina."

Henry puffed out his cheeks and tilted his head to one side, silent and pensive for a brief moment.

"I think…" he started hesitantly, then drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I think if I'd never found out who she is, though, then I'd have never found Emma. And neither would my mom."

He blinked solemnly at Snow and she felt a surge of love for him, for this boy who was her grandson. He had such a huge heart; the forgiveness that she saw in his eyes was much more than she herself felt she could offer Regina. And she wondered, at the back of her mind, who had taught him to be that way – so strong and brave, believing in the power of true love as much as anyone in Fairy Tale Land, even though he'd never lived here before now.

"You had to give me that book so I could figure it out," he said equivocally. "So I could figure out who my mom is and so Emma could save her."

"Is that what you believe she's done?" Snow asked, peering curiously at Henry.

He nodded firmly. "My mom…she's not the same anymore. Not like she used to be."

Snow had to begrudgingly agree. Regina was still as prickly as ever, casting as much scorn and derision on this land and the people in it as she'd ever done. But even Snow had to admit that when she saw Regina with Emma, with Henry, in the midst of the family that was all she'd ever wanted, there was a tenderness to her that was reminiscent of the young woman that Regina used to be.

Taking a breath, she unclasped her hands, laying them palm out on the table. "Do you know how I first met your mom?" she asked.

Henry shook his head wordlessly and Snow smiled indulgently at him. "She saved my life," she told him. "She was brave and took a risk to save me from a runaway horse. I think I fell in love with her a little right there and then."

"And then she became your stepmother," Henry interjected. "She became evil."

Snow's face clouded. "Yes," she nodded slowly, her heart sinking with the sadness of years that had slipped away, shrouded in ignorance and the pretense of love. She hated Regina for what she'd done, but there was a part of her that yearned for the love that she'd once thought was real.

"Henry…your mom…Regina…she wasn't always bad."

"I know," the boy responded simply, bobbing his head up and down. "Nobody loved her. She just forgot what it felt like."

He frowned, looking troubled. "I didn't love her either. Not properly."

"Neither did I," Snow confessed in a small voice, a flush of shame rising on her throat.

"Maybe if I'd – " Henry began, then stopped, his mouth twisting over the deep sadness that overtook him when he thought of his life with Regina.

"She was never bad to me," he said, rising in his chair and leaning over the table, lowering his voice even though they were alone in the room. "I thought she was but…I thought she didn't love me."

"And I thought she did," Snow murmured to herself.

"I don't know how to make it up to her," Henry said dolefully. "I know what she did to you was really, really bad, but I think someone did something bad to her, too. And I don't know how to make her feel better about it."

"Henry," Snow sighed, reaching across the table and taking his hands in her own. "You're a good boy. You love Regina now and she loves you. Don't you think that makes her feel better already?"

"I guess," Henry admitted, but he avoided Snow's gaze and his lips quirked upwards in doubtful confusion.

"Maybe we both could have loved her better," Snow said, as the boy glanced up at her. "Henry, what she did…it came from a place of great sadness. Regina's mother – Cora – she wasn't kind. She wasn't – wasn't good, not like Regina was. Not like she could be."

"Can you forgive her?" Henry's eyebrows rose above a wide, clear gaze that made Snow shift a little uncomfortably in her chair.

It was a strange notion: forgiving the Evil Queen. All through her adult life – even in Storybrooke where Mary Margaret Blanchard had treated Regina with suspicion and not a little apprehension – Snow had fought against what she perceived as a force for nothing but bad. Regina's actions still rankled, tasting sour at the back of her throat and clinging uneasily to the memories she'd regained of this world. But Snow knew how easy it had been for her to reach for darkness in an attempt to exact revenge; how she'd used magic to ease her pain, how she'd held a bow and arrow with murderous intent.

But it had been love, only love, that had pulled her back from the brink of doing something she could never take back. Without it, she would have been lost. Without it, she might have become condemned to walk in darkness, in anger, in solitude. Forever corrupted.

So even if there wasn't forgiveness in her heart for Regina just yet, there was understanding. And perhaps that was a start, at least.

"I'm trying," she said, squeezing his hands. "I'm trying, Henry."

XxxXxx

"What are you doing?"

Regina turned, pulling on her leather vest and reaching for the huge buckle to fasten it around her waist. She eyed Emma's tousled hair and resisted the urge to tear off her clothes and return to the warmth and safety of their bed. Tugging at the belt instead, she settled it around her vest and reached up, straightening the high collar before fixing Emma with a pointed stare.

"I'm getting dressed, dear. I thought that would have been obvious."

Pushing herself up in the bed, Emma gathered the blankets around her naked form and pushed at her hair, suppressing a yawn as she gazed at Regina. She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep until she'd opened her eyes and seen the afternoon light outside the window, an empty space beside her in the bed.

Apparently magic had lots of after-effects her erstwhile teacher had failed to tell her about, she thought, with a tiny scowl. And if she and Regina were destined to end up in bed every time she successfully managed a spell, then learning the craft was going to take a lot longer than she'd initially anticipated.

Not that she was complaining. Emma's scowl was replaced by a smug little grin as she remembered Regina's limbs rolling over her own, the whispered words of passion that had been lost in heated sighs and moans that they had pulled from one another with their mouths and fingers. It had been an unexpected, but ultimately welcome way to pass the morning.

Her eyes slid up and down Regina's form. The woman looked younger, the muted colors of brown leather and the black breeches she was wearing complimenting her complexion. Regina's hair was tied back into a braid, giving her an almost girlish appearance. Emma had to admit, it was a different Regina altogether. And she liked it.

"You're wearing pants," Emma commented.

Regina turned around in front of her, hands moving delicately over the leather vest and fluttering up to rest at the low neckline of her cotton blouse.

"I'm aiming for something more functional," Regina said, cheeks pink as she felt Emma's eyes roam over her form. "I know you like my dresses, but I can't help feeling that they distract you much more than is helpful when we're having magic lessons."

"Huh," Emma grunted, reaching for her shirt and pulling it on over her head. "You know it's not really the clothes, right?"

Regina moved forward, perching on the end of the bed as Emma sifted through the pile of garments on the floor, searching for her underwear.

"I know that magic seems to bring out rather more primal instincts in you, if that's what you mean," she said, a playful note of reprove in her voice.

Wriggling underneath the covers, Emma scrambled into her underwear before turning to Regina, looking at the other woman with the heated memory of magic still shivering over her skin.

"Is it always like that?" Emma asked in a hushed tone. "Is it always so..."

She shook her head, wordless in an attempt to describe the feelings that had rocketed through her chest and launched her at Regina, hungry for the other woman in a way she'd never really experienced before. Regina had seemed as essential as breathing, like oxygen itself. When she touched her, Emma could feel the magic humming over their skin, surrounding them in a haze of lust-soaked want unlike anything else. It had intoxicated her almost as much as the magic; or, at least, that was how it seemed.

So maybe having powers wasn't the _only_ thing that seemed different in this world, Emma thought, cocking her head to one side and staring at Regina. Maybe the way she felt about Regina was heightened, sharpened by the magic that flowed through her veins, mingling with the love that had become her life's blood; the thing she'd do anything to protect. Regina had once told her that not having someone was the greatest curse of all, and Emma knew that she'd already decided that nobody in this world – in _any_ world – was going to be cursed again. But especially not herself, Henry and Regina.

No more curses. No more suffering. No more loneliness.

Even if, Emma sighed a little, that meant indulging her mother in the daily office of whatever Snow had decided Emma actually was. She'd been called a lot of things in her life, but 'princess' and 'Savior' had never been among them.

"I've never felt anything like that before," she told Regina, frowning.

"It can be a little overwhelming at first," Regina said gently. "When I learned to use magic, I was afraid of it. I never…"

She paused, a frown appearing on her forehead, eyes misted with what Rumpelstiltskin had taught her; how she'd taken power for herself and never once looked back with regret. Not until now.

"I never wanted to use magic to hurt people," she continued slowly, feeling Emma's watchful gaze on her and shifting slightly under it. "When I was growing up, my mother only ever seemed to use it to control others."

"You mean, control **you**?" Emma shuffled forwards in the bed until she could reach out and take Regina's hand in her own.

"Well, yes," Regina said, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I was so determined not to be anything like her and yet," she sighed heavily, "that's precisely how I ended up. Ironic, isn't it?" Her lips curved in a mirthless smile and she swallowed visibly, shame rising in her gullet.

"It's a fucking tragedy," Emma said harshly, although her fingers, clasping Regina's, were gentle. "She took Daniel away from you, didn't she? With magic?"

The look of abject pain that crossed Regina's features hurt Emma too, settling deep inside her stomach and aching up her body. Grief took many forms; so did loss. And even though there was no jealousy regarding Regina's first love, Emma knew that losing Daniel still sat heavy on Regina's conscience, on her heart.

"My mother used magic to get what she wanted. Me being queen was part of that," Regina frowned over the memory. "She always told me that magic was freedom, but Emma, it trapped me as much as I trapped everyone else. I didn't – I **can't** ever let it do that again. I can't let it do that to you."

"Hey, it won't," Emma soothed, rubbing her thumb over the back of Regina's hand.

"That's just the thing, though," Regina said, agitation forming lines around her eyes. "Magic is…it's very seductive. The more power you have, the more you access it and use it, the more you want. And you start to feel like there's nothing you can't do. Nothing you can't have."

"Listen, I know you're worried about me. But I already **have** everything I want," Emma said decisively, as Regina gave her a tight, worried smile. "Well, apart from cellphones, a TV, a car," Emma intoned with a roll of her eyes.

"I swore I wasn't going to be her," Regina confessed in a rush of breath. "She hurt so many people and took whatever she wanted without regret. She was a monster."

"But that wasn't all the magic," Emma protested. "Regina, your mother failed you. And the way she treated you…look, I don't know all the details, and you don't have to tell me, but she failed you."

At the half-lidded glance that Regina threw her, Emma let out a blurt of laughter and shoved at her hair with her free hand. "Yeah, I know," she nodded slowly. "I'm hardly the expert when it comes to parenting but if I know one thing, it's what parents **shouldn't** be. You and I never had what we needed when we were growing up. It's why we ended up, you know, the way we are. **Were**," she corrected herself with a frown.

Regina stared down at their joined hands, wondering not for the first time, how unsettling and beautiful grace could be; how forgiveness came not in grand gestures but in tiny moments, fragments of souls that were given up and presented as the offerings of love. Emma Swan was hard-headed, ignorant of this world and the life Regina had endured in it, but love seemed to transcend all of that. It was a magic all of its own. Just like she herself had believed as a young woman, when Daniel had been alive and her future was seemingly unwritten.

"I loved my mother," she said sadly. It still ached in her gut sometimes, how she possibly could; how she had, despite everything that happened. "I just didn't know how to make her love me. Maybe I failed **her** by not being…I just wasn't good enough."

Emma squeezed Regina's hand, so suddenly and so tightly that she looked up, her eyes meeting a fierce green gaze.

"People are gonna tell you who you are your whole life," Emma said in a hardened, bitter tone. "You just gotta punch back and say no, this is who I am. You want people to look at you differently? **Make** them. You wanna change things, then you're gonna have to go out there and change them yourself because there are no fairy godmothers in this world."

She frowned, pursing her lips. "Not for people like **us**, anyway."

Regina thought of all the times as a child she'd wished upon the shooting stars leaving trails of sparkling dust across the sky, how she'd pledged anything for the healing magic that a fairy godmother could bring. But the fairies had abandoned her, and she had simply assumed that she wasn't worthy of their gifts, their aid, the help that they seemed to offer to everyone but her.

"That's just it, though," she said, heaving a great sigh. "I **did** punch back, as you put it. I **did** make people see me differently. I used magic to force people into believing that I was evil, so I became evil. I lost the person I was and I don't…I have no idea if I can ever get her back."

She placed her hand on top of Emma's, holding it between her own and trying hard to stop the tears prickling at the backs of her eyes from falling.

"I can't lose you to magic, Emma. It's taken so many people from me and if it consumes you the way it did me, then I – "

"That's not going to happen," Emma said firmly. "Look, all of this fairytale stuff is…well, pretty much of a mindfuck. But if anyone knows that, then you do. And you're gonna teach me how to use these powers and how to control them. That's how people will know you've changed, Regina. That's how we're both going to show them, okay?"

Regina let out a huff of laughter and shrugged, seeming for all the world like the unsure, nervous girl who had submitted to her mother's control and allowed herself to be used as a pawn in a game she still couldn't quite figure out completely, not even after all these years.

"I've never talked about this before," she said hesitantly. "Not to anyone."

"Then it's probably about time you did," Emma responded.

"Nobody ever wanted to listen," Regina protested feebly.

"Yeah, well," Emma shrugged, sliding her hand from Regina's grasp and reaching over the side of the bed for her pants, "I do. And the kid does. I figure that if you keep trying, then maybe other people will as well."

Regina's burst of dismissive laughter put a frown on Emma's face and she turned back to face the other woman.

"They want to kill me, Emma."

It was easy to forget that when they were in this room, locked away from the rest of the world outside and the resentment and anger that lay beyond the castle walls. Remembering it now put a panicked surge of hot rage into Emma's chest and her lips formed a hard line as she was reminded of how much she wanted to force people into seeing Regina for who she was now. Who she'd become in light of the scant happiness she'd found.

"I've told you before," she said sharply. "I'm not going to let that happen."

She saw the aggrieved expression on Regina's face; the knowledge that even a Savior might not be able to offer sanctuary to the Evil Queen. That some crimes were almost impossible to forgive, no matter what excuses were offered in the endeavor to give recompense.

"We're stronger together," Emma said bluntly. "All of us. You, me and Henry. That's what family is, Regina. And god knows, you and I didn't have much of that for ourselves but I'm damned if I'm going to let anyone take that away from our son."

She nodded firmly, her chin jerking down to her chest. When she looked back up, she saw Regina gazing at her with something like wonder in her eyes. Emma shifted, a little embarrassed at the ferocity of her assertion, at the volatile nature of her love that so easily replaced any anger in her heart. Glowering good-naturedly at Regina, she pushed back the covers on the bed and swung her legs over the side.

"What?" she shrugged. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nobody was ever on my side before," Regina said softly, her voice hitching over the words. "Nobody ever wanted to help me. I was angry for so long, wondering how my mother could choose to let me grow up without ever really loving me."

Tears glistened in her eyes as she forgot to keep them at bay, her voice thick as she stared at Emma: the Savior. "I'm sorry," Regina apologized haltingly. "I'm not good at this – I…I guess I just…I'm not – I'm not used to someone putting me first."

Emma reached out, putting her hand on Regina's arm, fingers tightening around it comfortingly.

"Then get used to it," she said softly, before a broad smile spread over her lips and she hopped off the bed, fastening her pants around her waist and holding out her hand.

"Now," she said, straightening her shoulders and tossing her hair back. "Let's go and make some magic."

XxxXxx


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

A month passed quickly. Emma and Regina returned to their stronghold, Henry in tow. The distance offered privacy, after a fashion, even though Snow and Charming insisted on making the journey through the Enchanted Forest several times to see their daughter and grandson. It was an uneasy truce that Regina had drawn with them, steeped in promises that both parties intended to keep, but that were made difficult by the stark reality of following them through.

Snow had never learned to be a mother in the way that Regina had. She'd never watched her baby grow into a child, teaching her to walk, to talk, to read the stories that Snow herself had loved as a girl. Emma was still awkward around her, caught in a contradiction where her friend had transformed into something other, something unfamiliar, something Emma had never had for herself. Every minute they shared together was filled with newness, shaded with the familiar. It confused them both and yet, between the two women, there was love, a love unlike anything Emma had ever known. It terrified her with its strength, with how seductive it was.

And that was why Emma shied away from it. Because love, like magic, presented terrifying powers that were new and uncharted. The love of a mother for her child was stronger and more enduring than anything else, and if anyone understood the pull of it, the surprising way that it pricked at her conscience and her heart, then Emma did. Because Henry had wormed his way into her affections and her mind, no matter how much she'd tried to resist, no matter how many years of his life had passed before he'd found her.

Solitude was no longer an option.

There was something rather comforting about it, even in its unfamiliarity.

Henry, Charming and Emma had left the palace to go riding. Snow watched them leave, hand clasped to her breast, resisting the urge to cry. They were so alike, all three of them. The father Emma had never known bent in his saddle to murmur something in his daughter's ear and she burst into raucous laughter as he clapped her on the back. Twisting around on the docile pony selected for him, Henry had grinned widely at his mother and grandfather, not understanding the source of their mirth, but joining in anyway.

"They seem like quite the family, don't they?"

A voice at Snow's shoulder made her turn to see Regina looking curiously at her, a faint smile playing around the other woman's mouth. Regina's gaze flickered briefly to the long road leading from the castle, where three horses were plodding along companionably, heading for the Enchanted Forest.

"Charming, in fact," Regina said, turning back to Snow. For a moment, scorn colored her gaze, sharpening her features and causing a moue of displeasure to tighten Snow's mouth.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" she barked, gathering her skirts and sweeping from the castle entrance, making her way around the walls towards the garden.

Following her, Regina allowed a sad smile to work its way over her mouth. She caught up with Snow at the top of the steps leading down towards the balcony where trees were kept in check, placed carefully inside enclosures of stone. Since returning here and since she'd been effectively kept prisoner inside her own home, Regina had tended to the plants and flowers that seemed relatively unharmed by the curse. She cast a cursory glance at the empty patch of dirt where her apple tree had once stood and instead followed Snow to a stone bench, watching as the young woman sat down on it, hands joined together neatly on her lap.

"The High Council were impressed with what they heard about you," Snow said quietly, casting a look upwards to where Regina stood. "Surprised," she added, "but impressed."

"What they heard about me? And what would **that** be, dear?" Regina stood with back erect, uncomfortable with the almost gentle tone of Snow's voice.

"How you were the only one who could stop Emma," Snow said, a frown crinkling her brow as she remembered how her daughter had pushed everyone away, even her.

But not Regina. And as she gazed up at the woman, Snow noticed the dark look that crossed Regina's features, how it fluttered worry through her eyes and how she turned away, looking out across the steep valley that fell away from the castle walls.

"Her magic is unpredictable," Regina said quietly, her voice almost snatched away by the breeze that fled around them. "She struggles to control it."

She turned, tugging on the leather vest that sat snugly around her form. Abandoning her garish outfits had been borne out of a desire to leave behind all they represented. It was a rather more sober wardrobe that Regina adopted now, reminiscent of the girl she'd once been, not the woman she'd made herself into. She felt Snow's eyes on her, caught in the gaze of the girl she'd sought to destroy in the same way she herself had been destroyed: carving out lines of pain in her heart, slice by excruciating slice.

"Was it like that for you?" Snow asked, her head tilting onto one side.

Regina shrugged a little, taking a step closer to where Snow sat on the stone bench.

"I spent most of my life seeking control," she admitted. "For me, magic was a way of finally gaining it. I was taught to **take** power, not give it."

"Rumpelstiltskin," Snow said grimly. Regina nodded curtly and took a huge breath, letting it out in a long sigh.

"But he couldn't have brought out what wasn't already there," she asserted, arms creeping around her torso and clutching tightly. "I was always told that evil isn't born, it's made. But I have to wonder if Rumpelstiltskin didn't just see it in me all along."

"Regina…" Snow breathed, but was unable to say anything that might provide comfort. She was beset with memories that had always taunted her; now even more so with Regina's changed garb. It reminded her too much of what had been, of the woman – no more than a girl – who had saved her life and lavished upon her instantaneous love and affection. Her heart ached suddenly, painfully in her chest and she pressed her lips together, silent.

"I was always marked, you know," Regina said. Snow's gaze darted to her face and she nodded, shoulders hitching. "My mother…she made a deal with him. I was always destined for **greatness**." Her voice dripped with sarcasm; her tone hard-edged and bitter.

"Just as you were, dear," Regina continued, as Snow shifted under her eyes, glittering like diamonds and just as hard. "How fortuitous it was that you came along, that I saved your life, that your father wanted to marry me and elevate me to the position of queen."

There was nothing hidden, not any more. Her voice was thick with pain, lips twisting as though the words were sour on her tongue, the memory roiling in her stomach like nausea.

"Regina, are you saying that all of this was **meant** to happen?" Snow gaped at the other woman, eyes wide with an innocence that reminded Regina all too much of the child that she'd once been. But naivete was no excuse; it never had been. And as she turned on Snow, Regina's lip curled.

"My mother would have done **anything** to ensure that I became queen," she hissed. "And she did."

Snow remembered the stable boy in whose arms she'd seen Regina that fateful night; the man to whom Regina would have given anything, the man whose love had created a truer magic than any the Evil Queen had wielded.

In the moment that words were on her tongue – words of apology, words of denial, words of excuse and youthful ignorance, Snow stopped them. Because until she had fallen in love with Charming, she'd never really understood what Regina had told her that night. A part of her had never really believed it. And in the years that followed, Snow hadn't been completely blind to the way that their world worked – a world in which women were handed over as prizes to whatever prince fought hard enough, wooed richly enough; whatever kingdom and realm sought to make allies and enter into binding contracts. Childhood notions of true love had paled in light of the very real political deals that were struck between fathers who perhaps didn't love their daughters as much as hers had.

And then there was Regina, whose parents hadn't really loved her at all. At least, not in any way that Snow could comprehend. Cora had traded her child for powers, for a kingdom, for the material comforts that could never quite replace love. Especially not the love that had been ripped from Regina in such a heartless, devastating way.

As she looked up at Regina, Snow suddenly realized all that had been lost; all that Regina had attempted to reclaim in darkest magic and curses created from a lifetime of suffering. But more than that, Snow felt foolish, ashamed. Because even if Regina had fallen towards darkness with an empty heart and a burning lust for vengeance, Snow knew that she had helped to push her.

"Gods, Regina," she murmured, shoulders sagging. "What happened to us?"

It was a paltry question. One that didn't really need an answer. One that Snow knew she'd asked herself, many times in many different ways throughout her isolation spent in the Enchanted Forest.

But as their eyes met, Snow gasped, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. For the first time in what felt like forever, she recognized Regina. She saw traces of the young woman she had adored so much, thought of as a friend, a confidante, a _mother_. And as Regina visibly struggled to hide it, Snow thought she saw something that she'd sadly suspected was a lie.

"Did you…" Snow began, swallowing over the rising trepidation in her throat. "Regina, did you ever love me? At **all**?"

"**Love** you?" Regina's head jerked back on her neck and she stared down at Snow with wide, appalled eyes.

"I loved **you**," Snow said hastily, effectively silencing the other woman. She saw the dubious gleam in Regina's eyes, the flaring of nostrils that indicated disbelief and she leaned forwards eagerly on the bench.

"I **did**, Regina. You were so brave and kind and…and you were my friend!" Snow's voice rose in entreaty, but she felt, rather than saw, the hardening of the woman before her.

"Yes, dear, I was," Regina spat. "And look where that got me. Love is weakness, Snow. I was **never** more vulnerable than when I cared about you; when I spared your feelings at the expense of my own."

"And you punished me for it, didn't you?" Snow's voice was low now, grated with the understanding of a child's misplaced devotion and loyalty. "Of all the people in my life, Regina, you were the one whose love I needed the most."

"Need?" Regina echoed, a mirthless laugh trickling from her lips. "Tell me, Snow, what did you **ever** need that wasn't given to you by your slavish, adoring prince and your friends?"

"I…" Snow faltered, blinking rapidly. "I needed **you**, Regina. I needed a mother."

"No," Regina shook her head emphatically, arms uncurling from around her torso and stretching wide into the air. "You **wanted** a mother, Snow. And you did whatever you had to in order to get one."

"Wait – is that what you…you think I told your mother about Daniel on **purpose**?" Snow was aghast, recoiling from the suggestion as much as from Regina, advancing upon her. "No, Regina! That's not true! Your mother – she tricked me into – "

"She tricked us both, Snow," Regina cut in, her voice ragged. "But while you got exactly what you wanted, I lost everything."

"I was a **child**, Regina!" Snow got to her feet, refusing to let this woman intimidate her even as she trembled underneath Regina's gaze. "How could I possibly know what you'd been through, what had happened to you?"

"You couldn't." Regina's voice was cold. "And you never did. You still don't."

Snow's face crumpled into painful acceptance, because for all the times she'd indulged in righteous confusion as to just why Regina had chosen to victimize her, she'd never really stopped to try and understand why. A blush of contrition rose on her cheeks and she shifted, uncomfortable with the stark truth of the other woman's words.

"I just wanted us to be a family," she said dolefully. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Regina let out a breath of mirthless laughter, lifting her face to the cool air coming from the valley and up over the castle walls.

"I wanted that too," she said slowly. "And, for a time, I even thought I might have a family of my own. But that was taken away from me, just like everything else."

Snow recalled a dark night in the depths of winter, when she'd refused to leave Regina's bedchamber, when pristine linen sheets had been stained almost black with blood. The nursemaid had tried to shoo her away, but Snow had stayed, sickened by the limp, discolored body that was wrapped in a cloth and taken away; heartbroken by the way Regina thrashed and screamed, reaching blindly for a baby who would never suckle at her breast, never stretch out its tiny hands for her in need.

She'd never really acknowledged how it must have felt for Regina to lose a child; never really felt the yawning chasm that it left, aching more and more as years passed by, compounding every single bad thing that Regina had ever been told about what she didn't deserve.

Not until now, as Snow gulped over the sudden, jagged shards of emotion in her chest. Because at least _she'd_ found Emma again; at least _she'd_ been given a second chance. Snow couldn't help thinking that perhaps Henry was Regina's. And in all the ways that she was prepared to fight for Emma, all the ways in which she would strive to gain her daughter's love and never let it go again, Snow knew that Regina would do – and _had_ done – even more for Henry's.

Getting to her feet, Snow grasped Regina's arm in hasty fingers. "Why didn't you just kill me back then? Why did you let me grow up thinking that you cared for me?"

Regina leaned in, her face inches from Snow's; so close that she could feel the quickened breath of the girl on her cheek.

"Because I wanted you to suffer, just as I did. I wanted you to know how it felt to have nobody, nothing, no hope." Regina's lips pressed together and she averted her gaze. "No love."

"That's why you took my father from me," Snow whispered, realization dawning. "It's why you turned me out of my home, made me run, sent the Huntsman to kill me."

"And still you survived it," Regina said bitterly. "You found your true love; your happy ending; a loyal group of friends. How could you possibly even **begin** to understand what it was like for me? I was always alone, Snow. There were no fairies to cast their magic on my behalf; no handsome prince to draw his sword for my honor."

"So you turned to magic to get what you wanted."

"I did what I had to do," Regina stated blankly, snatching her arm from Snow's grasp and turning towards the wall of the balcony, gazing out across the valley. "I did the only thing I **could** do."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Letting out a dry laugh, Regina shook her head. "Like you said, Snow; you were a child. A child who had everything. A child who was always there to witness my humiliation. And perhaps you were used by my mother, as I was, but you were **there**, always so greedy for my love and affection."

Regina's lip curled a little at the memory of it, but as she turned back to face Snow, it was the unexpected sadness in her eyes that truly betrayed her.

"I couldn't punish anyone else. Don't you see that? But I **could** punish you. So I waited until you were old enough to feel the loss of everything you'd ever known. Like I had. Until I could be the traitor to your love, as you were to mine."

Her gaze roamed over Snow's features, the rapt attention on the other woman's face, horrified comprehension dawning over her face.

"Tell me, dear, when you were in the forest with nobody to come to your aid, being hunted down like an animal; how did you feel?"

Snow blinked, catching her breath. "Scared. Alone. Like hope was gone."

A tiny nod inclined Regina's head. "Imagine feeling that way for your entire life, Snow. Imagine having your true love taken from you; the only hope you ever had for happiness shattered into pieces so small and insignificant that you'll never be able to piece them back together."

Her voice broke and she pressed her lips together, trying to stem the surge of hurt that rose in her chest, unwilling to let Snow see further vulnerabilities, more weaknesses.

"But you did," Snow said quietly. "Regina, you **did** put them back together. With Henry. With – with Emma."

"Oh yes." Regina tossed her head, eyeing Snow with something like scorn. "At the hands of your benevolence."

"What's **that** supposed to mean?"

"You took my true love away from me once, Snow," Regina said through gritted teeth. "And now you have the power to do it again. When I've taught Emma how to use her magic; when I've fulfilled my purpose, you'll have no more use for me and you can finally end the game. You can win. Isn't that the law of this land? That good will vanquish evil?"

Snow's eyes flew open and she stared at Regina, appalled. All her life, she'd seen herself as the innocent victim of Regina's impossible rage and desire for vengeance. And, gathering the forces of good around herself: people who were willing to sacrifice themselves for her, fight for her, even die for her, Snow had never once stopped to think about the reasons why Regina hated her so much. In the world they had inhabited here in Fairy Tale Land, those reasons had become irrelevant, lost in the battle between good and evil. All that mattered had been that good would win. That evil would lose.

Those stark opposites seemed a long way away from what had come afterwards, shrouded in the mire of a dark curse and a life less lived than endured.

Looking at Regina now, Snow was conflicted, tormented by the years behind them and fearful of the years ahead. But her own feelings paled in comparison to the careworn expression she saw on Regina's features, the way that the other woman's eyes refused to meet her own, the sorrow that hung heavy on shoulders she'd seen thrown back in proud, arrogant rage.

It was difficult not to feel guilt, regret, and a hundred other emotions that welled like tears in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. Because Regina had love now; she had the comfort that had been absent in her life for so long. And who was Snow to take that away from her again?

"Regina, I'm – " Snow moved forwards, trying not to notice how Regina flinched away from her. "I'm sorry," she said. And this time, she meant it. With everything she had in her.

"I'm **so** sorry," Snow repeated, reaching out, fingers closing over Regina's arm.

"When I was in the forest," she said, as Regina shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, "I learned to be brave and strong, self-sufficient. By the time I met Charming, I didn't need anyone else's help – certainly not his."

Regina lifted her chin, eyes glittering as Snow let go of her arm and clasped her hands together, fingers worrying at each other.

"I don't know that he and I would have fallen in love if I'd been the princess I was." She let out a tiny, self-conscious laugh and shook her head. "I probably would have perished if I hadn't found the strength to fight for what I wanted."

Regina let out a sigh and frowned. "But you didn't, Snow. You ended up with all the help you needed or wanted, no matter what I – "

"No, Regina, listen." Snow shook her head, cutting the other woman off. "Even though I didn't understand why you wanted to hurt me; even though I wanted to hate you so much, it was you all along who'd taught me that."

"Taught you? Taught you **what**, dear?"

"How to be strong. How to be brave." Snow wasn't sure that she'd ever really realized it until now, until this moment where there was no need to hide anymore – not for herself, and _certainly_ not for Regina.

"I worshipped you," Snow whispered, throat thickening again with the love she'd felt for Regina as a child. "You saved my life because you were brave, Regina. And I think – I think I always knew that your mother didn't love you the way she should have done. But you were so strong, so unbreakable. Everything I became when I ran from the palace…it was because of you. Because of who you were."

A wind from the distant mountains whistled its way through the valley below and up over the parapet of the castle, snatching at tendrils of their hair. Regina shivered as she looked at Snow, seeing for a brief moment the child that she'd loved, no matter how hard she'd tried not to, no matter how much she'd wanted to make Snow the origin of all the sadness and pain in her life.

It still hurt; a half-forgotten wound that throbbed under a scar she wore like armor. But Regina couldn't help wondering if she didn't need that protection anymore. If, by returning to the place where it all began, it was time to rip away the shields she'd fashioned to defend herself against harm. Time to heal.

"I know you haven't had much hope in your life," Snow continued, Regina silent and contemplative before her. "But I saw you when Emma left, back in Storybrooke. I know how much you love her. And I still know that. I still see it. I have no right to take that away from you. Nobody does."

A dismissive, bitter smile curved Regina's mouth, her eyes dark and mistrustful.

"Try telling your High Council that, dear," she said in a low tone.

"Maybe I won't have to," Snow said equivocally. "Maybe you'll prove it to them yourself. You proved it to Emma. And…and I think maybe you'll prove it to me, too."

Now Regina looked startled, shaking her head wordlessly and clutching at her torso. Her greatest enemy; perhaps her greatest ally. It defied all logic. It certainly defied all the broken emotions of their past.

Nodding a little, Snow drew in a breath, held it for a minute and then let it out slowly. She gathered her skirts around her and walked past Regina, towards the steps leading back up towards the palace. It was only when she reached their foot that she heard her name called in a tremulous, hesitant voice.

Turning, she saw Regina staring after her, a frown burrowing between the other woman's eyes.

"I did," Regina said, lines appearing around her eyes with the sheer effort of admission. Her arms tightened around her body, nails digging into the leather of her vest.

Snow shook her head a little, confused, mouth parting in enquiry as Regina clenched her teeth together, unable to bite back any more truths.

Finally, she gazed into eyes that had looked upon her as a mother, once upon a time, and let herself confess.

"I did love you, Snow."

XxxXxx

Emma leaned forwards in the saddle, wishing that she hadn't approached the prospect of riding with such gusto. Despite it being the quickest way from one location to another, she'd been rather spoiled with the carriages that her parents had sent for her and had only spent time on horseback when she'd explored the Enchanted Forest with Henry.

But Charming had easily slipped back into his old habits, and approached the notion of a ride with much more enthusiasm than Emma had anticipated. So much so, that, as soon as they reached the end of the long road leading away from Regina's palace, he had kicked his horse into a gallop that gave Emma and Henry no other choice than to frantically urge their steeds on just to keep up with him.

By the time he slowed his horse, the beast snorting and tossing its head, his face was flushed with pleasure and he twisted around in his saddle, turning to his daughter and grandson.

"I didn't know how much I missed this!" he shouted, letting out a laugh.

"This is so cool!" Henry called out, his voice echoing from the canopy of trees overhead. Above, a startled flock of birds took flight from the trees, their wings whistling as they soared into the blue sky. Leaning back in his saddle, Henry watched them swirl around in wide circles before they took off in the direction of the mountains.

He hadn't felt this happy in a long time. Reading about this magical land in his book of fairytales was one thing; actually being here was very different, exceeding any and all of his expectations. Everything was different here – the forest seemed to hum with life, the creatures in it gathering by the side of the track their horses had followed, not scuttling away into the underbrush like they'd always done back in Storybrooke. He'd spotted curious rabbits, even a deer that had peered between heavy fronds and watched them pass by. When Henry had stared back at it, the animal had merely chewed thoughtfully, showing little to no fear.

And Henry didn't feel fear, either. This was what he'd always dreamt of; what he'd longed and hoped for. It was precisely this sort of experience that he'd imagined to provide comfort during those nights in Storybrooke when an Evil Queen had punished everyone and he'd never felt more alone. But here in Fairy Tale Land, there _was_ no Evil Queen anymore. He had two mothers who loved him more than he'd ever thought either of them could, or would. He had grandparents who were real, not confined to the pages of a book, who indulged him and savored every moment they spent with him.

It filled him up, right to the brim.

Ahead, Charming was pulling on the reins, slowing his horse to a walk rather than the eager trot that the animal kept breaking into. Craning his head around, Henry looked at Emma, her mouth twisting into a brief expression of pain as she pushed down at the saddle with one hand, the other gripping the reins of her mount. Stifling a grin, Henry clucked at his own horse, reaching out to pat at its neck and stopping until Emma caught up with him.

"Hey, kid," she said in a strained tone, quirking a smile at him. "How's it going?"

"Better than you," he said, as Emma's eyebrows rose for a second. "Still getting used to being in a saddle rather than your bug, right?"

She let out a sighing laugh and nodded. "Driving my bug never made me this sore, yeah."

Henry nodded. "Do you miss it? Storybrooke? The other world?"

"I miss cars and cellphones," Emma grumbled, but she looked kindly on Henry and noticed the flicker of alarm that colored his features, reaching out an arm to pat him on the back.

"We've all got some readjusting to do," she told him. _Understatement of the year_, she thought grimly, flexing her fingers before grasping at the reins again. Even though she'd gained some control over her magical powers, they still taunted her, trembling below the surface of her skin all the time.

"I miss video games," Henry said suddenly, cutting into her thoughts. He shrugged helplessly and grinned at her.

"Cheeseburgers," Emma supplied, and he giggled.

"TV!"

"Microwave ovens," Emma said, entering into the game just to see the bright smile spread across Henry's mouth.

"Proper roads," Henry said, as his horse stumbled slightly, forcing him to grab on to the pommel of his saddle.

"Proper plumbing," Emma rolled her eyes, and they couldn't help bursting into laughter.

"What's the joke?"

Charming turned his horse on the pathway in front of them, all three animals coming to a halt.

"We're wondering how you people lived here," Emma said. "You know, without cheeseburgers."

Beside her, Henry tittered and she couldn't help taking some wicked pleasure in how Charming's face fell. Of all the people she'd interacted with since they'd come here, it was her father who appeared most sensitive to her displacement; his efforts to overcompensate for what she'd left behind in the dizzy days after their return had both embarrassed and touched Emma. She'd read Henry's book; she knew that Charming was an emotionally heightened version of what a man should be, but the reality of experiencing it – of accepting that he was her father – was a little overwhelming at times.

He never stopped trying, though. Never stopped wanting to shower her with his love and care, offering protection she didn't need and a concern to which she was unaccustomed. Emma had struggled with recognizing in his presence the father figure she'd never had, the love she'd always craved, the unfamiliarity of a David Nolan that she'd never met before.

"I guess…" Charming said, clasping his hands together on the pommel of his saddle. "I mean, we have wild boar. That's **kind **of like a burger." The hopeful look on his face slid away as he observed the dubious expressions of his daughter and grandson.

"Kind of," he added in a woeful tone.

"Yeah, but I don't remember Ruby having to kill her own boar before frying it up on the griddle," Emma intoned. "And that stuff you call cheese here…it's not…it's not great."

"It tastes like feet!" Henry said brightly and, Emma threw him a tiny glare, unhelpfully.

Charming heaved a sigh, leaning back in his saddle. His lips pursed into a line of such agonized apology that Emma threw up her hands and shook her head.

"We're kidding!" she told him in an attempt to assuage the worry crinkling his brow.

"Mostly," Henry added with a cheeky grin. But Charming seemed appeased for the moment and shook his head, even mustering up a low chuckle. The teasing, he could cope with, for the most part because it reminded him all too much of his wife. Seeing her traits in the daughter he was still getting to know was comforting, if nothing else.

Even if, he admitted silently, he missed cheeseburgers as much as they did. He missed the ease of their life in Storybrooke; how daily life was full of conveniences that he'd never even dreamt of when they'd lived here before. It had made him somewhat complacent, he supposed. And he knew that coming back to Fairy Tale Land had been abundantly easier for him than it had been for the other citizens of Storybrooke. Unlike his wife, Charming's demeanor and background had enabled those disgruntled villagers around their castle to be rather more forthcoming with their dissatisfaction, and their complaints sat heavily on his conscience.

He couldn't help wondering if perhaps Storybrooke had offered a way of life previously denied to the people under his care; if, in some way, they thought about their cursed exile from Fairy Tale Land with something akin to fondness, not regret.

Emma pushed her horse forwards, coming alongside Charming and peering into his face.

"Hey," she said quietly, "we really **were** joking, you know."

He nodded at her and smiled affectionately. "Yeah, I know," he said slowly. "I guess it takes some getting used to, being here. For all of us, it's a return to a life we once lived. For you and Henry, everything's new and unfamiliar."

"Not **everything**," Emma shrugged. "Back in Storybrooke, I made friends who kinda felt like family. And they're still the same, sort of."

She huffed out a faint laugh and cocked her head onto one side. "So maybe now I understand why Leroy's so grumpy all the time, and maybe Ruby gets a little more fierce around the full moon. But show me a woman who doesn't flex her claws once a month, right?"

Charming had the good grace to blush a little and cleared his throat, glancing away across the forest floor.

"Listen," Emma said in a more serious tone, "this is new for everyone. But we're here now. So we have to make the best of it, right?"

"That's right," Charming said with a broad smile, reaching across the space between them and laying his hand over Emma's, warm and strong even under the leather gloves they both wore. "And I still wouldn't change anything, not if it means I get the chance to know you and Henry."

Now it was Emma's turn to flush and she shifted in her saddle, wincing at the dull ache spreading out over her buttocks. She missed her yellow bug most of all, she decided grimly.

"How far are we from home?" Henry asked, his horse plodding up beside them. "Are we gonna ride much further?"

"No," Charming told him, with a sidelong look at Emma. "There's a clearing up ahead; I thought we'd rest up a little, maybe have something to eat?"

The look of relief that spread over his daughter's face brought a smile to his lips and he patted at the saddlebags behind him. "It's not cheeseburgers, but I figure it will do just as well for lunch."

He tugged on the reins, turning his horse and leading them along the track a little further to where it opened out into a shaded open space. As they slid from their mounts, Emma grunted as her feet hit the ground and pressed a fist into the small of her back, letting out a grateful moan.

"How do you know the woods so well?" Henry enquired, following Charming to a cluster of fallen logs where they began to unpack the saddle bags, revealing a hunk of bread and some preserve that Snow had assured him was made from the sweetest berries the palace had to offer.

"I wasn't always a prince," Charming pulled out a leather skein of water and uncorked it, handing it to the boy. "Before I met Snow…before I even knew who she was, I used to roam these woods as a boy."

Dropping down close to them, Emma stretched out her legs and picked off her gloves, taking a piece of bread that Charming proffered and biting down into it thankfully.

"It's kinda weird to think of Prince Charming as a boy," she said, mumbling through her mouthful of food.

"That's because I was never a prince," her father told her, smirking at the wide-eyed, surprised looks that Emma and Henry gave him. He shrugged and unwrapped a sweet cake, laying it carefully onto the top of the log between himself and Henry.

"My parents owned a farm," he explained. "I grew up tending to goats and working the land as best I could to help my mother. We were poor, but we were happy."

Henry looked more than a little disappointed, a frown working its way across his brow. This wasn't the legend he'd read about in his book – it wasn't even close. Prince Charming – a _shepherd_?

It must have shown on his face because his grandfather reached out and ruffled his hair.

"Sometimes we start from humble beginnings, Henry," Charming said. "And sometimes things happen that we can't control, but we do what we have to in order to protect our family. That's what I did. To save my mother and the farm and…well," his shoulders lifted in a shrug of acceptance, "it turned out okay in the end, didn't it?"

"You found your true love!" Henry chirruped, a smile returning to his face once more.

"Okay," Emma said, drawing out the word with dubious intent, "but how does a farmboy get to be a prince, huh? **That's** what I want to know."

Under her narrowed gaze, Charming grinned and shook his head. "That's a story for another time," he told her, as she pushed out her lips and grunted, unsatisfied. "I wouldn't want to shatter all your fairytales at once now, would I?" he looked at Henry and Emma, eyes twinkling.

Henry slid down onto the patch of grass under the log, idly pulling at some blades with his fingers as Charming passed him a slab of cake. Shoving it eagerly into his mouth, Henry munched in silence for a minute as he leaned back against the log, looking up at the branches overhead and, above them, a sky of clearest blue. It was hard to believe that anything bad could ever happen here – not _now_, anyway, he reminded himself with thoughts of Regina. And it didn't really matter what the true fairytales were, he pondered, because the reality that was laid out before him was far more alluring than anything he'd read in his book.

Propping himself up onto one arm, he looked at Emma, lying on her back with eyes closed, face raised to the sunlight dappling down through the leaves overhead. For all her half-hearted grumbles about this world, she looked truly relaxed. He'd never really seen her this at ease before. Not without Regina by her side. And a stray thought popped into his head: he wished that his mom was here with them. She only seemed to smile when she was with him and Emma.

It occurred to him then, that whatever fairytale had brought them here; whatever nightmare had twisted Regina into an Evil Queen, then it was most definitely over. The darkness that had shrouded this land was gone, leaving only sunlit days and peaceful nights. And as he lay back down against the log behind him, Henry let out a happy little sigh of contentment.

XxxXxx

A clap of thunder overhead was what made Emma's eyes snap open. After filling herself with the food Charming had brought and some of the sweet wine he'd offered her, she had drifted off to sleep in the peaceful clearing. But now, as she looked up through the canopy of trees, she could see ominous dark clouds swallowing up the blue sky, sweeping towards them from the distant hills.

Charming was already on his feet, gathering up the remnants of their lunch and stowing it safely into saddlebags that he slung over his shoulder. Raindrops began to patter through the leaves, a thousand tiny droplets of percussion to the booming thunder that sounded above once more.

Henry flinched and squinted up at the sky, a fearful expression on his face. He instinctively inched closer to Emma and she threw an arm around his shoulders, tugging him against her.

"It's just a storm, kid," she said, hurrying him over to where their horses were shifting, Charming's mount tossing its head and whinnying nervously.

Henry looked up at her and squinted. "I don't like them," he admitted, looking much younger than his years.

"Me either," Charming came up behind them and threw the saddlebags over his horse's back. He busied himself tightening girths on all three horses and glanced back at Henry, a comforting grin on his face. "When I was your age, I used to hide under the bed during storm season."

He patted Henry's horse, leaning in to murmur something in its ear which seemed to calm the animal.

"Under the bed?" Henry echoed, allowing Charming to boost him up and into his saddle.

"Storm season?" Emma narrowed her eyes as she scrambled up onto her own horse. "There's a storm **season**?"

Charming laughed lightly, springing up onto his mount as Emma eyed him enviously. "Yeah," he nodded, gathering the reins and leading them from the clearing as lightning cracked the sky over their heads, lighting up the dull gray clouds for a second. "One year the entire village near Snow's castle flooded. But don't worry," he added, seeing the alarm that crossed Henry's face, "we'll be fine."

Struggling up into her saddle, Emma grunted. "Oh well, as long as the royals are taken care of, then I guess that's okay. What about the people in the village?" she squinted up at the dark sky overhead.

Charming frowned, urging his horse forwards as another clap of thunder boomed above them. "Emma, we don't make the rules in this world…things work differently here."

"Yeah," she replied shortly, "I get it. But it's not so different to where I grew up. There are those who have privilege and those who don't."

"What's privilege?" Henry asked, kicking his pony into a trot to keep up with Emma and Charming.

Emma glanced at Charming, at the discomfort that spread over his features and burrowed between his brows. She wondered if it troubled him as much as it did her: the way that everyone who had experienced a taste of democracy in Storybrooke had returned to a life where inequality was rife. Because even though Regina had controlled her town with an iron hand, Emma knew that everyone had had a home, basic comforts, the freedom to come and go as they pleased. Here, in Fairy Tale Land, Emma had seen the hovels that surrounded the castle – what Charming referred to as a village. But it wasn't like any village that she'd ever seen. People were forced into deferring to Snow and Charming's rule; and what was more disconcerting was the fact that a lot of them simply seemed to accept it.

"Let's just get back to the castle," Emma said sternly, ignoring Henry's raised eyebrows of enquiry and the way he looked expectantly between her and Charming.

She dug her heels into her horse, grasping the reins a little more tightly as the rain began to come down harder now, bouncing from her leather jacket in staccato bursts of noise. Perhaps it bothered her more than she cared admit – that the power in this world rested in the hands of the few. Hands that held decisions about her life and relationship. Because, no matter what the people thought, and _certainly_ no matter what she and Henry thought or felt, it was a small, elevated group of people who would censure Regina.

Not for the first time in her life, Emma felt the unfairness of it all, as unstoppable and undeniable as the rain itself, pouring down over her and filling the sky above with smothering clouds of gray. Gritting her teeth, she pushed her horse forwards and leaned over the reins with intent. She might not be able to stop the rain, but there was nothing she wouldn't do to stop those who sought to destroy her happiness. If there was a price to pay for Regina's crimes, then it would be created from good, not compounded by evil.

As thudding hooves pounded on the ground beside her and Charming's horse took the lead on the road back to the castle, Emma cast a rueful look back at the sky behind them. The rolling darkness seemed to chase them, and she couldn't help shivering as she felt the rain soak through her jacket; the clouds seemed tinged with purple, billowing in tendrils reaching for them like greedy fingers. The corners of her mouth turned downwards as she gripped the reins a little less tightly, giving her horse its head as it broke into a canter.

The sooner they got back to the relative safety of the castle; the better.

XxxXxx

Regina peered out of the window in her bedchamber, narrowing her eyes as she looked at the approaching storm. One of Snow's birds had brought a message that Charming, Emma and Henry were on their way back to the castle, but it didn't stop her worrying about them. She turned from the window, sighing in the knowledge that, in spite of the way concern gnawed inside her gut, she welcomed it. Because how many years had she lived ensconced in a world where her only worries had been for herself? How long had she been closed off from the care that she now gave so freely, that she reveled in and was returned by Henry and Emma?

It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she'd felt emotions directed towards others that weren't steeped in rage and vengeful wrath. One less lived, less loved and less nurtured, not in the way she clung to her life with Emma and Henry now. And even if they were living underneath the shadow of punishment and retribution demanded by others, it was really nothing in comparison to the recompense Regina demanded of herself. Change was difficult: she of all people knew that. But guilt? Guilt was sharp with newness and pricked Regina's conscience every single day – a conscience that she'd never allowed herself to have before now.

She'd abhorred how people lived that way, despising their innate desire to quiet the nagging guilt in their heads and hearts. Regina had rebuilt herself in another image, where guilt was cast aside in favor of a revenge that she justified with a scarred and wounded heart.

It was ironic, then, that she had become just like every other tortured soul. As much a victim of her own machinations as everyone else. She'd gone right back to the beginning again. But this time, she had more to live for than ever before.

The door to her room flew open and Emma stomped in, scattering droplets of water everywhere. Kicking the door shut, the blonde let out an aggrieved sigh and pulled at her jacket, wresting it free from wet locks of hair that clung to the leather and flinging it onto the floor.

"Henry's fine," Emma said, as Regina moved towards her, mouth open in question. "Snow's got him and Charming heading for a hot bath."

"Which is precisely where you should be going too, dear," Regina clucked disapprovingly as Emma fumbled with her jeans, peeling them down and leaving them in a sodden heap by the doorway along with her boots.

"I'll live," Emma grunted, tugging at her shirt and casting it onto the pile of wet clothing. "It's just rain, Regina. And, unlike everyone else living here, at least I've got a castle to come back to." She moved over towards the fire burning in the grate, shivering in her underwear and holding out her hands before rubbing them together.

Grabbing a fur from the bed, Regina walked up behind Emma and threw it around her shoulders, receiving a grateful smile of thanks for her pains. But it soon faded as Emma turned back towards the flames and Regina peered around her, frowning into the blonde's face.

"Did something happen?" she asked gently, as Emma rolled her eyes and pushed at her wet hair.

"You mean other than getting soaked through to the skin?" she grunted, pulling the fur around her body, trying to glean some warmth from it across her icy skin.

"I mean the reason why you have such a black look on your face," Regina commented, as Emma drew closer to the fire and sighed. "I thought spending the afternoon with your father and Henry would have – "

"Reminded me of who I am and what this world is like," Emma blurted, hunkering down and holding her hands closer to the flames than was necessary in order to feel their heat. Fingers splayed out, she could feel the fire almost licking at them, threatening to blister her skin but the pain felt good, like a salve to the discontent in her gut that had been growing steadily with every beat of her horse's hooves. So she ignored Regina's narrowed gaze over her shoulder and stared into the depth of the fire, seeking a reflection for the burning resentment that roiled in her stomach.

"This place," she began, grinding her back teeth together. "The people here, how can they live like this?"

"Like what, dear?" Regina dropped into one of the chairs by the fire and frowned at the hunched figure in front of her. She could see Emma's magic with a trained, suspicious eye, fleeting across the blonde's skin and shimmering gently in the firelight.

"Did you know David – Charming – " Emma let out a noise of exasperation and shook her head. "My father," she finally said, "wasn't always a prince."

"I did know that, yes," Regina nodded.

"But now he's back here, it's like he's forgotten what it was like to have nothing. No power. No say in what happens."

"Emma," Regina sighed, reaching out a hand towards the other woman, "I told you before, the rules here are – "

"Stupid and unfair!" Emma scrambled away from Regina's outstretched hand and fixed her with a shadowed glare. "He and my mother, they live in a fairytale castle and have clothes and food and...and hot baths and whatever their heart desires, but what about everyone else?"

She pulled the fur around her shoulders and began to pace back and forth in front of the fire.

"How anyone can prefer this world to Storybrooke is beyond me," she muttered grimly. "In my world you'd be given a fair trial and…and everything you've done to help us - help **me** – would be taken into account. But here, nobody cares about that. All they want is for a bunch of cronies who don't know their ass from their elbow to decide whether you should be allowed to be a person, Regina! And the stupid thing is that everyone just goes along with that! I mean, doesn't anyone think to question it? To wonder whether it's the right thing to do?"

Thoughtfully, Regina watched as Emma's pace increased, as her fingertips, grasping the dark fur tightly around her body, began to glow a little more strongly, a little more dangerously.

"Doing the right thing is never easy," she said, rising to her feet. "Not for people who hold responsibility in their hands. You know that."

"What I **know**," Emma spun around and faced Regina, eyes stormy and troubled, "is that my parents seem to have forgotten that in the world you created for them? At least there they had a vote. A home. A job."

She threw up her hands in the air, the fur slipping from her shoulders and falling in a heap at her heels. "If they'd returned to a village that floods during storm season," her voice was bitter, resentful of the realities of this land and the incongruity of it with the tales she'd been told as a child, "then I doubt they'd be so quick to set themselves up as judge and jury when it comes to you."

"But everything's fine when you're the queen," she said in a sardonic, sing-song voice. "Or the daughter of one," she added resentfully.

"Emma – " Regina began, as light began to crackle around Emma's fingers, but the blonde shook her head violently, cutting her off.

"No, Regina," she growled, "**don't**. Don't tell me that this is just the way things are. Don't try to convince me that this is what you deserve or what's right. I don't **want** this life. I don't want **any** life where you're not allowed to be who you are – who you've become."

She winced, finally noticing her hands and flinching as though they hurt. But it was the sight of them that gave her cause for pain: glowing and trembling with the power that surged through her like quicksilver, turning her blood to mercury, both burning hot and icy cold all at the same time.

Emma thrust them away from her, as though the very motion itself could rid her of this terrible curse that she felt moving inside her like a parasite, feeding from the anger that she could barely acknowledge, let alone control. As she did so, twin shards of light leapt from her fingertips and into the fire. The flames roared and exploded in a burst of white, sending sparks flying across the rug on the hearth where they glowed brightly before extinguishing with tiny puffs of smoke.

"Regina!" Emma backed away, staring at her hands with wide, horrified eyes. "I can't…it won't stop…"

"It's alright," Regina curled her fingers around Emma's wrists, ignoring the sparks still emanating from the blonde's fingertips. She drew Emma towards her until they were almost touching, until they were close enough for Emma to feel the cool leather of Regina's vest against her stomach, until they could lock gazes and Emma was soothed by the deep brown eyes that stared into her.

"Remember what I told you," Regina's voice was calm, even though Emma shuddered under the sudden power surging through her. "Focus on the things that make you strong, Emma; the things you trust, the things you love."

Emma squeezed her eyes tight shut and tried to remember, tried to summon up the feelings that she knew were inside her somewhere, but she was cold and miserable and confused and, she had to admit, afraid. Her anger, she knew, came from a place of trepidation, of displacement and unfamiliarity that had weakened her confidence. Magic, fueled by her frustration, had rushed in to fill the cracks, widening them so much that sometimes, Emma felt as though she would split apart from the sheer force of it.

"Concentrate," Regina's voice whispered near her ear and Emma trembled as it reached beyond the magic, beyond everything else. One of Regina's thumbs tracked a line across the inside of Emma's wrist, tracing a path of something Emma couldn't quite define, but what felt like all the good she'd ever suspected was in the other woman; all the love Regina had to offer her and Henry. All that she'd become. And as she allowed herself to really _feel_ the presence of Regina near her, next to her, all around her, Emma knew in her gut that it helped.

The tension across her shoulders eased a little, receding with a prickling sensation as it took the magic with it. By the time she opened her eyes she was well nigh divested of it completely and she blinked at Regina's enquiring smile before throwing her arms around the other woman and clinging to her.

"Thank you," Emma breathed, her voice muffled against Regina's neck. "Thank you." The relief in her voice was palpable.

It was odd, Regina thought, how greatly she'd been starved of this. And she hadn't realized it until Henry and Emma offered her the affection that she'd sorely missed; the physical contact that she'd craved, without even knowing it. How lonely she must have been, to still feel the pang of strangeness in Emma's embrace, to still yearn for it even though it was freely given.

Reaching up, Regina's fingers slid into Emma's wet hair and she realized that the blonde was shivering against her. She wasn't sure whether that was because of the magic, or because of the cold. Perhaps it was both.

"You need to choose your battles more carefully, dear," she remarked with a wry smile, taking hold of Emma's hand and leading her over to their huge bed. "More carefully than I did, anyway," she added.

"I'm not **trying** to fight it," Emma said, through chattering teeth. She grabbed at another fur on the bed and wrapped it around her body. "It's a natural reaction to something invading me – like…like a sickness or something." The corners of her mouth turned downwards as she mulled it over; it really _was_ like a disease for which, apparently, there was no cure.

"And the more you see it that way, the more you'll resist it," Regina admonished, fetching her robe from the side of the bed and encouraging Emma to slip into it. "Look," she said, as Emma slumped onto the bed, "I know you don't much like magic, and I know you like living in this world even less, but the angrier you are, the more difficult your magic is to control."

"This world sucks," Emma grumbled, sounding rather more like Henry than a grown woman, shoulders hunched and hands worrying each other in her lap.

"Eloquent, as always," Regina commented, eliciting a narrow eyed glare from the blonde. But she perched on the bed next to Emma and clasped her hands together in her lap, frowning slightly at the disconsolate figure beside her.

"You want me to fight, don't you?" she asked, as Emma gave her a sidelong look but said nothing, her silence answering the question well enough. "But I'm tired, dear. I'm tired of waging war on everyone and everything."

"The truth is that you and I are more alike than different," Regina continued. "We've both fought hard to get whatever comfort we can out of our lives and it never really worked."

A sad smile slid over her lips and she shook her head. "The way we did it…**that's** the difference between us. And the hardest choices are the ones we rarely feel able to make for ourselves; the ones we're forced into by things beyond our control. Coming back here hasn't been easy for anyone, least of all you, but you have to understand, Emma; I'm **not** giving in. I'm accepting. I'm choosing to accept all the things I did and the consequences of them. And, for once, I want to do the right thing. Even if that leads to my demise."

Emma blinked at Regina as the other woman leaned forwards and peered into her face. Back in Storybrooke, when Regina had simply been a somewhat tyrannical Mayor, doing the right thing had been justified by keeping order and abiding by the law. But here, the laws that governed them were buried in magic and totems like good and evil: concepts that simply failed to provide enough justification for Emma to let them dictate her conscience.

"It's not a weakness to accept that we can't win," Regina said softly, as Emma let out a long, weary breath. "And it's not a weakness to accept the things that seem beyond our control, either. In fact," she lifted a hand and laid it over Emma's clenched fists, "it's a strength."

"Right," Emma said bluntly, the planes of her face settling into hard lines of irritation, "but while you're going all **zen** on me, Regina, there are people out there who want you dead; people who have blindly stumbled back into this stupid world with its stupid rules that don't make any sense. Fairytales aren't meant to be like this!"

Getting to her feet, Emma tugged on the belt of the robe, tightening it around her waist, then throwing her hands up into the air.

"They sold me a lie. All the books, all the stupid movies, all the stories that we tell our children. It's just one big, fat lie," Emma clutched her arms around herself and shuddered. She turned to Regina, crouching down and resting her hands onto Regina's knees.

"This world's just as fucked up as the one we left behind and I'm the only person who seems to understand that," she said slowly, gazing up into Regina's eyes. "Everyone seems perfectly happy to go back to the way things were before and I just…I don't get **why**."

Regina lifted a hand, pressing her palm against Emma's cheek. "Because they think they can get their happy endings back," she said slowly. "The ones I took away from them."

"Yeah?" Emma's eyebrows rose. "From what I've heard, not everyone's life was as charmed as they'd have us believe. Archie – he wanted to kill his parents; Leroy…well, he had the love of his life taken away from him, and Ruby? Ruby has to deal with being a frickin' wolf once a month and knowing that she ripped apart the person she wanted to be with more than anything. Tell me, Regina, how are **they** happier endings than the ones they might have found in Storybrooke?"

"You're very sweet, dear," Regina said, rubbing her thumb along Emma's cheekbone. "But nobody was **really** happy in Storybrooke. Not until you came along, anyway. You brought the possibility of happiness with you, and that's quite the power to wield."

"Happiness, power," Emma said sullenly. "That's all you people talk about here. Doesn't anyone want to just…you know…**live**?"

"Isn't that what we're trying to do?" Regina frowned, as Emma stood and folded her arms over her chest.

"No," the blonde answered bluntly. "**You're** not. You're hiding away and waiting for whatever punishment is handed out to you. They still think you're the Evil Queen, and you…you're letting them!"

She turned away from Regina, huffing out an irritated sigh and shaking her head. Because when it came down to the lines that they'd drawn separating their past from the present, nothing seemed strong or clearly defined enough to absolve the stains that marred Regina's soul. Not in the eyes of others, anyway.

"Your mother and I had a chat this morning." Regina's voice broke into Emma's harried thoughts and she spun around, shrugging. "She told me that perhaps I needed to prove to everyone that I've changed – prove it to **her**."

Emma's lips pressed together in a hard line but she said nothing. When it came to the thorny subject of her mother and Regina, she had made her feelings perfectly clear – to both Snow _and_ Regina. She didn't need to pick a side; she'd already sworn her allegiance.

"If I can teach you to hone your skills," Regina continued. "If I can channel your magic into something good…something that might actually **help** people, then it's possible that this world might show the sort of lenience I never did."

She shifted on the bed slightly, twin lines burrowing between her brows. "I can't ever bring back the people whose lives I took," she murmured. "Dead is dead, after all."

"But perhaps I can help you to understand what it is to have great power, in the hope that you'll use it wisely. Fairy Tale Land looks to you, Emma, for guidance and for authority."

"Haven't you been listening to me?" Emma finally spoke, her voice as tight as the sensation in her chest, clutching at her with imbued responsibility and care that she'd never asked for; certainly that she'd never wanted. "I don't **want** to be the leader or the hero or whatever else these people think I am! Too much power makes people crazy; it makes them greedy and cruel."

She spoke without thinking, without hesitation. But she saw the expression her words painted across Regina's features, the way the other woman's face paled and how she clenched her jaw, biting down over the shame of past transgressions.

Throwing up her hands again, Emma let them fall back onto her thighs with a loud slap, a noise of pure frustration growling in her throat. She felt the anger again, the temptation to let it out and blaze with fury almost too much to resist. And she wondered, not for the first time, if this was how Regina had felt, if this was the culmination of a life that hadn't satisfied, hadn't fulfilled and hadn't loved the other woman at all. Rather like her own, Emma thought grimly. A life where abandonment had been the only constant.

"Ignore me," Emma grunted. "I'm just – just pissed because I got soaked. I don't know what I'm talking about."

"I think we both know **that's** not true," Regina said, eyes narrowing.

An awkward silence descended over them. It wasn't until Emma shivered again, teeth chattering audibly, that Regina came to her senses and reached out for her, tugging on the ends of the robe's belt. Emma's legs bumped up against her knees and the blonde clutched her arms around herself, wishing for nothing more in the entire world than the comfort of Regina's bedroom back in Storybrooke, with its luxurious tub and endless amounts of hot water.

"Stop fighting it," Regina murmured, fingers toying with the edges of the robe. "For once in your life, Emma, give in."

The look of anguish that crossed the blonde's face sent a piercing shard of hurt through Regina's chest and she slid her hands around Emma's waist, drawing the other woman closer. There was comfort, at least, in proximity.

"I don't…" Emma whispered in a hoarse tone, swallowing over the years of steadfast independence she'd sought to fill the gaping void that solitude had left in her life. "I don't know how."

Leaning back a little, Regina pulled the robe open, revealing Emma's taut stomach, the lithe form that she adored so much. "Then let me show you," she said, leaning forwards and pressing her lips to skin, humming in gratification as Emma let out a ragged sigh.

When Regina's fingertips curled around the waistband of Emma's underwear, and her mouth hovered over a hip bone, Emma gasped aloud at the sensation, the robe falling from her shoulders and into a silken heap behind her. Her hands reached out to grip Regina's shoulders, nails scraping across the leather vest that the other woman wore, and she closed her eyes as the tip of a tongue traced a flickering path over her stomach.

"That's right," Regina whispered, a hot flush of warmth pimpling Emma's skin and making her shudder. "Just give in to it."

Emma swayed under her touch; Regina's fingers splayed out on her lower back, dipping past the thin covering of cotton and pushing it down so that Emma was completely naked. She feasted her eyes on the woman: her Savior in so many different ways that Regina couldn't even begin to count them. Emma was magic, the pure embodiment of everything Regina had yearned for and lost in the bottomless pit of blackness that had cast its own spell over her heart.

Her mother had told her that magic was freedom, that power was there for the taking. But it was a paltry consolation for giving up the truest of loves. She leaned back a little, her gaze wandering up over Emma's form and lingering on the faint smile that curved the blonde's lips. In Fairy Tale Land, people believed that they were only allowed one true love. But Regina knew that, just like Emma told her, she'd been sold a lie. Because here she was, her heart so full that sometimes it felt as though it would burst from sheer joy; a true love regained and reborn.

Emma's eyes flew open and she stiffened, gaze darting towards where her fingers clenched at Regina's shoulders. She could feel it: power running through her arms like fire in the blood, a sheen passing over her skin – passing through the layers of flesh down to the bone itself.

The whispered expletive was out of her mouth before she knew it, bringing Regina's gaze sliding up to meet her own.

"Surrender to it," Regina murmured. "Give in to how it feels, Emma."

"No – what if…what if I hurt you?" Emma was conscious of how her grip on Regina tightened, how the buzzing sensation at the tips of her fingers had the power to burn, to destroy, to rent apart that which must be protected at all costs.

"You won't," Regina said firmly.

"**No**," Emma said again, shivering and snatching her hands from Regina's shoulders, holding them close against her chest.

Regina stood up, a dark look passing over her features. With a decisive movement, she unbuttoned the leather vest, ripping it from her body and casting it to one side. Taking the lapels of her shirt, she pulled it apart, revealing her naked skin underneath, breast moving rapidly up and down with hungry expectancy.

"You're afraid of what your magic might do to other people," Regina said, taking one of Emma's hands in her own and pulling it away from the blonde's chest with not a little effort. "But I'm afraid, Emma, of what it might do to **you** if you don't accept it."

Both women noticed the light emanating from Emma's hands, glowing even brighter than before in the dim room around them. Bending slightly, Regina kissed Emma's fingers, ignoring the sharp intake of breath that she heard from the other woman.

"Surrender to it," Regina said slowly. "I trust you, Emma. You'd never hurt the ones you love. That's how magic works for people like us; it thrives on what we feel."

She lifted her head, looking up into Emma's eyes. "That's why you won't hurt me."

Regina lifted Emma's hand in her own, the magic swirling around it reflected in her eyes as she gazed upon it. It cast an avaricious gleam into her gaze and Emma bit at her lower lip, fearful hesitancy gaining the better part of trust.

"Touch me," Regina said softly, drawing Emma's fingertip towards her skin. "Don't be afraid, Emma. Just touch me. You want me to have faith in you? Then have faith in **me**."

She felt the magic before Emma's fingers actually brushed over her clavicle, buzzing with intensity, scattering over her nerve endings and shivering its way down her spine. Regina sucked in an audible breath, her heart quickening its pace. She'd promised not to use magic and had largely adhered to the denial imposed upon herself. But this…this wasn't like the skills that Rumpelstiltskin had teased out of her with belittling demands and critical instruction.

No; Regina began to smile as Emma's hand moved now of its own accord, tracking a pathway down over her breastbone. This was something _good_, something undiluted by pain and sadness. This was magic fueled by love, the most potent of all.

She hissed as the magic became a part of her, winding its way beneath her skin. She'd felt the effects of it before, at the hand of her mother, but this was different; it wasn't restrictive or binding. It was the exact opposite of that: a freedom given without condition, without restraint.

"Whoa," Emma whispered, watching as her fingers left behind trails of light that sparkled before seeping into Regina's skin. "Do you feel that?"

Regina smiled. "I do." She reached for her shirt, pulling on the string ties that held it together and slipping it from her shoulders, dropping it by the side of the bed.

Tentatively, Emma smoothed her hand over the swell of Regina's breast, feeling the nipple there pucker and harden under her touch. Like electricity, a jolt ran through her entire body and she jerked backwards at the same time Regina arched forwards under her touch.

"No, don't stop," Regina urged, wrapping her fingers around Emma's wrist. "Please, Emma, don't stop."

Emma gaped as she made contact with Regina's skin, this time with a burgeoning desire for the other woman that she always, _always_ carried inside her. It bloomed like a rose inside her chest: heady and beautiful. It mingled with the magic that crackled under skin; a cocktail of emotion and power and strength. Always strength.

Moving forwards now, Emma captured Regina's lips with her own, kissing hesitantly at first and then harder. A guttural moan came from Regina's throat, vibrating and humming into Emma's mouth as they grasped at one another, arms sliding around one another's body and hips, thighs, breasts bumping together. Regina's fingers fumbled for the remainder of her clothing, removing it with a rushed, panting pace until she was finally naked, aching for the kiss of Emma's skin against her own.

They fell back onto the bed, scrambling and stumbling, unwilling to relinquish their grip on one another. Regina's leg rose up between Emma's as the blonde leaned over her and gazed down at her for a minute. The air was thick around them, silence falling like a blanket, smothering any and all sounds that they made as Emma's mouth descended onto Regina's neck, teeth pinching and nipping.

It was almost unbearable, Emma thought. She could feel every flick of her tongue over Regina's pattering pulse point deep inside her gut, every indentation of her teeth on Regina's flesh. And when her fingernails scraped up Regina's thigh, Emma felt the sensation as if she'd touched her own body. The magic she'd resisted up until now flowed freely, coursing with renewed passion through her veins, lighting her up and making her feel invincible. And perhaps, she mused as Regina clutched at her and bent her leg so that her thigh pressed against Emma's wetness, she was. Perhaps succumbing to this power was the truest way to feel it, control it, indulge in it. In a life that had been a series of battles, each one fought and hard won, it seemed that laying down her arms and surrendering was the _real_ way to win, in the end.

Grinding herself down onto the body that moved and arched beneath her, Emma flattened her palm out onto Regina's heated skin, fingers working their way up the other woman's inner thigh until they rested against damp curls of hair. She felt dizzy, whatever enchantment her powers had worked swirling around her head and senses in a kaleidoscope of intensity.

When she pushed her fingers inside Regina, Emma let out an agonized groan that was echoed in the throat beneath her, bared to her kisses and her tongue, her teeth that scraped along its length and her lips that sucked at it eagerly. She closed her eyes, giving herself over to the ripples of emotion and palpable feeling that rocketed through her. Regina was murmuring something: half-formed words uttered in a beseeching tone as Emma began to move in and out of her. They fled in and out of Emma's consciousness as she silently urged Regina on towards climax, as she felt her own body begin to respond in kind, hips rolling in ever-decreasing circles.

All the things she'd been afraid of – all the unmeasured power and threats that her magic had posed – dissipated like morning mist on distant mountains under growing sunlight. And, like sunlight, all the magic Emma had ever felt burned hot and bright in her chest, spreading out to the furthest reaches of her body, tingling and glowing and transforming all the darkness she'd ever felt into a conflagration of pure light.

Regina's hands clutched at her, fingers curling around her neck and Emma opened her eyes, staring down at the other woman, dissembled and undone. Teeth bared in a greedy, triumphant grin, Emma thrust inside Regina once more, drawing a keening sound from the other woman. Regina's hips rose from the bed, eyes widening in an almost startled manner. In their depths, Emma thought she could see the magic she wielded, glistening in purple hues before they closed tight shut and Regina began to shudder, scrabbling at Emma's body with desperate fingers as her climax took hold.

A wave of lustrous, iridescent light formed around their bodies, enveloping them both and rising upwards, illuminating the room up to the high ceilings and out towards windows where the encroaching dark was kept at bay.

Briefly pressing her lips to Regina's cheek, Emma felt the other woman's surrender: a breathless, trembling form beneath her own. They lay still for a moment, the last vestiges of magic trickling from their bodies, Regina's hand clenching over Emma's shoulder before it fell back onto the bed with a dull thud.

Emma buried her face into the crook of Regina's neck, breathing in the faint musky scent that gathered in the hollows of skin there.

"That was…" she mumbled against flesh.

"Indeed." Regina's voice was a husked growl, replete and satisfied.

"I mean, it was **really**…"

"Yes, dear. It was."

Emma nestled closer to Regina, winding her limbs around the other woman, craving the euphoria of her magic again, wondering if every time would be like that from now on if she wanted it.

She knew that she did. Lusted after it.

"If I tell you that you were right," Emma said slowly, lifting her head and looking down into Regina's eyes, "are you going to be all smug about it?"

Regina let out a low chuckle and traced her fingers down the muscular lines of Emma's back. "Perhaps just a little," she intoned.

Emma rolled her eyes and shifted, turning onto her side so that she could look into the other woman's face.

"This magic," she began, "it's a good thing, right? I mean, it's **good** magic?"

"It's the right kind of magic," Regina blinked slowly, solemnly.

"What…like…**sex** magic?" Emma said without thinking, then blushed, feeling foolish as Regina smiled indulgently at her.

"That's one way it manifests itself," she told Emma, then shifted in the bed, her gaze traveling around the room. "But other ways are…well, look, Emma. Look what you did."

Lifting her head, Emma's eyes followed Regina's outstretched arm, widening as she surveyed the room. Creeping vines emerged from the floor, snaking up the stone walls and around the windows, verdant and plentiful and alive. Their leaves swayed, caught in an invisible breeze and rustled together like whispers in the far corners of the chamber. Around their edges, magic glistened with golden light, reflected off the waxy, shiny surfaces of the leaves. But amidst them, it was the splashes of color that held Emma's attention. Flowers, all the shades that nature had to offer, dotted among the green with open, broad petals that reached for the light of Emma's magic, buds still splaying wide under the blonde's astonished gaze.

"Holy…holy **crap**," Emma gulped, glancing back at Regina. "I did that?"

"You did," Regina said gently. "Now do you understand how your magic works? How it comes from what you feel and who you are?"

"I – I guess," Emma responded. "But is it going to be like that every time we…you know, **do** it?"

Letting out a faint sigh of reprove, Regina shook her head as Emma pushed herself up onto her elbows and stared at the lush greenery across the room.

"Hence the need for you to learn how to control your powers, dear. To control your emotions. Magic like yours is inherently connected to how you feel; if you lose sight of that, then you lose the grip you have over your magical abilities."

"So it's all about what I want, right?" Emma shoved at her still damp hair and pushed out her lips thoughtfully. "If I want something enough, I can get it with magic?"

"It was always how I got things," Regina said slowly, but her brow crinkled and she put a hand on Emma's arm. "But be careful, Emma. All magic comes with a price. The more powerful it is, the greater the cost."

Green eyes blinked at her as Emma frowned too. "That's why you're going to teach me, right? Why you're going to help me? I can't do this without you, Regina. You know more about this stuff than anyone and I – I trust you."

The words didn't come easily and her voice faltered over them, even if the emotion behind them flooded her chest with a warm truth. Emma scooted down in the bed, sliding her arm around Regina's waist and allowing the other woman to pull a blanket up over their bodies. Fingers reached into her tangled hair, rubbing strands of it together and Regina let out a noise of acknowledgement as they moved closer together.

"I know you do, dear," she said softly. "And whatever it takes, I won't let you down."


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9

Regina opened her eyes, caught in a blur between sleeping and waking. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, sleep lingering around the edges of her mind. Shaking her head a little, Regina tried not to squint in the glare of sunshine coming through the window. Instinctively, her hand reached out for the expensive watch that she always kept at her bedside. It was the first thing she touched every morning, year upon year; the only way to start days which had become painfully repetitious. Attention to a strict schedule was really the only way she'd coped sometimes, implementing the routine so that she could rise from bed, care for her son, put one foot in front of the other.

Then Emma had come to Storybrooke and they were overwhelmed by something neither of them understood, let alone had the power to stop. After that, her watch was the second thing she touched every morning. Every morning that mattered, anyway.

Her hand was halfway to the bedside table when it stopped abruptly in midair.

_Of course_.

The watch wasn't there anymore. Nothing of Storybrooke was. Nor would it ever be; not here.

It wasn't the first time she'd dreamt of a land without magic, stealing away in her sleep to the mansion that had turned into a home. Sometimes she found herself wandering down Main Street, shop windows catching the late afternoon sun. Regina had even dreamt of the cemetery where she'd buried her father and erected a tomb in his honor, a stone sentry shielding her vault of secrets.

Storybrooke had been designed as a happy ending: the life that had been stolen from her. But self-imposed exile had never really given her the freedom she craved, and by the time Henry hated her so much that he'd seen her truest self through the web of lies she'd painstakingly woven, Regina had begun to think that happiness wasn't meant for her.

Or her for _it_.

So she'd resigned herself to a life of reaching for her watch, her stringent routine, and trying to make Henry love her like he once did.

Coming out of her reverie, Regina shivered and snatched her hand back to press it against her chest. In reality – in the one she'd fashioned for herself – she'd been desperately unhappy when Emma came to Storybrooke. She'd started to despise the town, hate her hard edges, abhor the dark cloud that hung over her. And joy was an emotion she painted carefully onto her face every day because by keeping assiduously to the routine, there was still faint hope that it would be come real. Experienced. _Lived_.

Regina clutched the covers around her and frowned, glancing over at the rumpled bedsheets that had been carelessly shoved aside. There was an odd little irony to the fact that while her dreaming self lingered in Storybrooke, her physical form slept soundly in Fairy Tale Land. Coming back had changed many things, but the most striking - the one that sent a sudden pang of realization into her chest - was that in longer than she could remember, Regina hadn't dreamt about Daniel at all.

Daniel was her first love; it burned bright and hot like the sun above them. She had allowed herself to be utterly consumed by it, turning her face to its warmth and light. Quite simply, she'd been swept away by him and how deeply he cared for her, wanted her.

But Emma was her final, great love. One that had thrived despite the gathering clouds that shadowed disappointment and experience over their loneliness. And it was every bit as powerful and intense as the love Regina had shared with Daniel, but she and Emma weren't naïfs. Moments of pure, undiluted happiness came less often and were all the stronger for it. In those moments, Regina sometimes felt as though she deserved it: deserved to feel joy without doubt, without the fear that it would be snatched away from her again.

But Regina _did_ doubt and she _was_ afraid. Emma was taking to magic like she'd taken to using a sword, wielding both with strength and confidence. She was taking to this world, too. And in _this_ world, Regina knew that there was no retribution she could offer that would appease those she'd cursed.

Fingers grasping at the covers, Regina shivered again, casting a glare around the room. She'd never woken cold in Storybrooke, not even during twenty eight harsh winters, and it felt almost guilty to experience a sudden rush of want for the material things that had given her bodily comfort, if little else.

The latch on the huge oak door to the room rattled before it swung open with a creak and Emma appeared around its edge, looking over towards the bed.

"You're awake!" she grinned, kicking the door shut behind her and wincing as it closed much too loudly, Regina's mouth twitching in disapproval. Cradling something in her hands, Emma shook her head and shrugged apologetically.

"I've got something for you," she said, making her way over to the bed and sitting down carefully. She pressed a huge white mug into Regina's hands and watched with a satisfied smirk as the other woman looked into the cup. The smirk gave way to gentle laughter as Regina's eyes widened and she stared at Emma in astonishment.

"Is this…?"

"Coffee, yeah," Emma nodded. "And not the cheap stuff, either."

Regina let out a growling breath of greedy anticipation, holding the mug before her as though it were a sacred chalice. Under Emma's amused gaze, she lifted the cup to her mouth and took a large gulp of the steaming hot liquid. As the dark, rich taste spread over her tongue and burned its way down her throat, Regina swallowed, closed her eyes, and let out a distinctly grateful sigh.

"Oh my god," she groaned, leaning in to sniff at the aroma rising from the cup. "That tastes **exactly** like – "

"The coffee you had in your kitchen, back in Storybrooke," Emma finished. She shrugged a little and raised her eyes heavenward. "I know. I take notice of stuff…sometimes."

"You drank so much of it that I would imagine **you** know the taste better than **I** do," Regina commented dryly. It was only when Emma narrowed her gaze and glowered good-naturedly that Regina began to smile, barely suppressing the chuckle of delight that sprang to her lips. She looked down into the coffee cup again, remembering days in Storybrooke when they had done just this. Those days were few and far between, of course, because although they loved well, they'd never loved peaceably. Coffee had, more often than not, been accompanied by awkward apologies from both sides. Learning to say sorry had been hard; meaning it, damn near impossible.

But they had learned anyway. Back in Storybrooke, some lessons came easier than others.

Regina lifted the mug to her lips again and sipped at the coffee. What might they have become in a land without magic? A land where she could simply be herself and Emma would be free of the burdens of a Savior. Regina knew that Storybrooke wasn't her happy ending. It was a happy beginning. The start of a newer life.

Raising her cup again, Regina stared down into it and blinked, stiffening before her gaze fled to Emma, watching her with eager curiosity.

"Where did you find this?" she asked. "The coffee…where did you get it?"

Emma was smug, tossing back her hair and patting Regina's leg. "The same place I got pancakes and maple syrup for Henry and a cheeseburger and fries for myself."

Comprehension dawned and, as she stared at Emma, Regina saw pride glittering in green eyes – the sort of pride she herself had indulged in at one time. A _long_ time ago. A time when the void yawning inside her after love was taken had been filled with another sort of power. The magic had never made her whole – not in the way _he_ had – but feeling it course through her entire being, imbuing her with the sort of strength she'd always feared in her mother's touch had reminded her that she could control _something_, _somewhere_.

"You used **magic**?" she asked in a hushed, almost reverent tone.

"I **told** you I was getting good at it," Emma nodded. She lifted her chin as Regina held the mug away from her as though it was filled with poison. "What? I thought you'd be glad I'm practicing all this…spell stuff," she shrugged, wiggling her fingers in the air and attempting another grin. But the expression in Regina's eyes was grave and Emma's mirth was quelled to a somewhat self-conscious upturn of her lips.

"It's not a toy, or some kind of fast food diner," Regina told her.

"Yeah, I **know** that." Emma's nostrils flared as she felt irritation swell in her chest. "I was just…"

She paused, shrugging again in the same guilty way that Henry had when he knew he'd done something wrong. To Regina's eyes, Emma appeared the epitome of a guilty child and she waited, watching carefully as the blonde shoved back her hair and let out a grumbling sigh.

"I wanted to make Henry happy," she finally admitted, a frown deepening between her eyes. "He'd never say, but I know he misses some things about…about home." She looked up at Regina now, green eyes darkening as a pained expression fled across her features.

"There's not much here that reminds him of Storybrooke," Emma began. "And maybe – maybe that's a good thing," she added hastily, "because I know he's happy here…in a different way, I guess, but Storybrooke was the only place he ever called home and that's important, you know? Having somewhere like that? The kid might have wanted his book to be true but there's a difference between believing in fairytales and living one."

It all came out in a confessional rush and when Emma stopped talking, she sucked in a huge breath, puffing out her cheeks before she let it out again in a long, more controlled, steady stream. There was no pride in her gaze now, and she stared down at the bedclothes, picking at the blanket, lips moving over words that she wasn't ready to say just yet. She seemed lost, confused. And when she finally looked up at Regina, there was a resignation to her features, mouth tight with dissatisfaction, eyes hooded.

"You miss it too, don't you?" Regina asked softly. For the first time, she could see all that Emma kept carefully hidden. All that she had taken for granted. All that she missed. Reaching out, Regina put her hand over Emma's, her thumb rubbing absently over the blonde's knuckles.

Emma shook her head, shoulders hitching dismissively, but her gaze darted towards the coffee cup and the scent that would always remind her of Regina's kitchen. Of the comfort that lay in familiarity. Of the place she'd begun to think of as home, at last.

"I guess it didn't suck all the time," Emma said diffidently, but Regina couldn't mistake the faint longing in her tone.

Cupping the coffee mug in front of her, Regina let out a sad laugh. "It didn't **suck** all the time for me either," she told the blonde. "The last year was difficult, but even so, I think there were some days there that will remain the best of my life."

Emma's eyes flew open, her gaze roaming Regina's face as she searched for clarity, deception, platitudes. It was only when she saw honesty shining flecks of gold into brown eyes that Emma saw just how much Storybrooke had changed Regina; how it had offered redemption in a way this world never could.

Even though she understood that the magic that had brought them here was most likely irreversible, Emma suddenly felt the gravity of it all, weighting her heart. They could never, _ever_ go back. Storybrooke was now as much of an unreality as the one she'd read about in Henry's book: a place that existed with all the other fantastical worlds that she now knew were real, stretching alongside each other in parallel lines, never meeting.

A jolt of grief hit her in the gut, churning her insides and making anger blaze in her throat. It was all gone. Taken from them before she'd even had a chance to show it to Henry and Regina, to see them experience _her_ world for the first time. Clenching her jaw, Emma felt her cheeks flush with resentment. She'd seen good and evil – this land practically thrived on such stark concepts. But it was with a growing sense of injustice that Emma had truly come to know Fairytale Land, where people she'd sat with in the diner lived in hovels; where a palace was afforded to a woman who'd been a demure schoolteacher longer than she hadn't; where Grumpy and the other dwarves had returned to working long hours down in the mines, toiling over their pickaxes.

"Emma."

She could hear Regina's voice, but it sounded as though it came from a distance. The pervading sound was of her own heartbeat, thudding in her ears, making her blood rush hotly around her body. A childish, unwarranted feeling rose in her throat and she hated herself for it; because she _should_ love it here, should feel some connection to the place of her birth and the land her parents had so richly offered as her heritage.

But she didn't. And even if her true home wasn't the stuff of fairytales, it was still where she felt she belonged the most. This realm might have created her, but it was a land without magic that had made her.

And magic, Emma thought ruefully, was at the root of it all. An interloper living inside her; an intrusion into all the things she'd ever known and understood. Emma's eyes flickered shut as she felt it roil in her stomach and she despised it for all that it had done to her.

"Emma." Regina's voice came again, strained and terse. "Emma, your hand."

Opening her eyes, Emma could see dancing lines of white chasing along the veins in her hand, cascading into pure light as she stretched out her fingers. Beads of sweat began to form on her upper lip as her hand started to tremble. She didn't _want_ this power, this energy that existed within her but wasn't yet a part of her. She didn't _want_ the responsibility placed upon her shoulders in this world. What she wanted was beyond this world's boundaries; a small town in Maine that had presented her with stability, security, love.

Sucking in air through her teeth, Emma willed herself to control the power running recklessly through her body. "It's the magic," she said through gritted teeth. "Sometimes it – it just…when I get angry…"

As she focused on her hand, the white glow faded a little, turning to bluish gray before disappearing altogether. Unaware she'd been holding her breath until it came out in a ragged sigh, Emma curled her fingers into a fist and pressed it to her stomach, head falling onto her chest.

Silence roared between the two women, and when Emma raised her head, she saw that Regina had shrunk back in the bed leaving a spaced that gaped wide, filled with nothing but questions.

"It's nothing," Emma said first, in a hasty, shaky voice.

"No," Regina shook her head. "It's really not. It's something."

"No, seriously," Emma blurted, "it happens sometimes. If I lose my temper then I guess I kinda…well…lose control. But that's okay, it's okay, because I can just try to stay, you know, not angry and I can keep making pancakes for Henry and coffee for you, okay?"

It all came out in a babble, disconcertingly so. Emma clamped her lips tight shut and forced them into a smile that was as bright as she could muster. But as Regina leaned a little closer, Emma knew she wasn't fooling anyone, especially herself.

"You," Regina said with in a doubtful tone, cupping her hands around the mug of coffee as though it could thaw the chill inching down her spine, "keep your temper? Because that was **so** easy for you back in Storybrooke when you were shoving me against every wall in town with your fingers wrapped around my throat."

"I hated you back then," Emma snorted dismissively. "I don't…Regina, we're not **in** Storybrooke anymore."

"More's the pity," Regina murmured.

"What's **that** supposed to mean?"

"That if we were back in Storybrooke your magic wouldn't be this potent. And you wouldn't have to struggle with trying to control it before it controls you," Regina said bitterly.

"I'm **not** struggling!" Emma threw up her hands and rolled her eyes, the lie coming so easily that she almost believed it herself. "It's a glitch, that's all. I can **do** this, Regina."

She nodded in affirmation. "I **will** do this."

"Emma, dear," Regina reached out, putting her palm to the blonde's cheek, "I think we need to talk about this. I think we need to – "

"No!" Emma batted Regina's hand away and for the briefest moment, color flared in her eyes: a golden sheen that Regina had never seen before. Hand held up in the air, Emma drew in a short breath and composed herself, not without some difficulty.

"I think," she finally said in a softer, more forgiving tone, "that you should finish your coffee then come join me in the bathroom. I've got another surprise for you."

Regina's mouth opened in protestation, but she knew better than to battle magic. And Emma's was close to the surface; Regina could almost see it with her naked eye, shimmering over the blonde's features and disappearing beneath her clothes. So she gave a curt nod instead and watched as Emma leapt from the bed, heading towards the antechamber that served as their bathroom. Sipping at the cooling coffee, it didn't taste as good as it had just a few minutes earlier, and Regina's lips twisted as she swallowed over the anxious lump in her throat. Of all the foes that Emma might meet in this land, Regina suspected that nobody could have predicted the most dangerous and pervasive would be the Savior herself.

The bathtub had always been one of Regina's not-so-guilty pleasures. She'd had it fashioned to exacting standards, and even if nobody but herself or the scurrying maids she had fill it with endless buckets of water were to see it, Regina always prided herself on having the best. As a queen, wasn't it surely what she deserved?

She padded into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, unable to prevent the faint grimace that pulled at her lips. The huge marble construct appeared opulent now, an ostentatious and unnecessary reminder of the luxuries of this world that she had grabbed and snatched for her own satisfaction. But the riches and trappings of this life, however numerous and costly, had left it hollow. Just as she had been. And Regina knew that now more than ever.

The tub was on a plinth, raised above the surface of the floor: a heavy, solid, wooden square designed to elevate the bath to a level acceptable for a queen. Emma was already naked, clothes strewn in a haphazard trail leading towards the tub, and she hissed as she lowered herself into the steaming water. It splashed over her skin as she let out a thankful groan that echoed up towards the vaulted ceiling, and her head lolled back over the side of the tub.

"I figured we should really use this thing," she commented, glancing over at Regina, standing a few yards away. If she didn't know better – and Emma desperately hoped that she _did_ – she might have thought that Regina was keeping a safe distance from her. And her magic.

"It's big enough for two, right?" she quirked a playful grin at the other woman, but it was too hopeful, too tentative and too desperate to be anything but an entreaty for normalcy.

"I wouldn't know, dear," Regina said, taking a few steps towards the bath. "I never usually had guests over for bathtime, despite the rumors this land liked to indulge in about my…personal affairs."

Her fingers pulled at the belt on her robe and she rose on tiptoe to peer down into the water, Emma's body already blushing to pink in its depths.

"And was this part of your magic practice this morning, too?" Regina asked, her lips taut.

Emma let out a throaty laugh and sat up a little, her body squeaking along the bottom of the tub. "Actually, no," she said, pushing her damp hair back over her shoulders. "And before you ask, I didn't fill it myself. I had some uh…help. From the girls my mother sent here to cook and clean."

Her nostrils flared as she shifted, uncomfortable with the mere concept never mind the fact that the girls Snow had employed to keep watch over Regina were kind of familiar. Emma thought she remembered one of them working in the diner sometimes, but she couldn't be sure. It annoyed her, how the memories of Storybrooke's denizens were beginning to fade as they adopted a newer, old life and began to change almost beyond recognition.

"I'm sure that made you infinitely popular," Regina said dryly. The housemaids were civil, but there was no love lost when it came to the Evil Queen and she endured their hard gazes and stiff compliance with the knowledge that the power she'd had in this world was, quite simply, gone.

"It's character building," Emma nodded gravely, although her lips twitched with a smile. "Or, you know, muscle building. Either way," she held up her hand, bathwater dripping from her fingers, "I have a tub full of water that's not getting any hotter."

She crooked a finger at Regina before pointing to the vast tub. "Now, take off your clothes and get in here."

Regina smiled, bending her head in acquiescence. Her robe slid easily from her shoulders; her nightgown falling into a similar heap at her feet as she silently undressed. She watched as Emma looked hungrily at her, lips parting but no words coming out. It was almost a comfort, Regina thought, that they would always have this. This thing that crackled and burned between them like wildfire, burning through all doubt in a split second.

She put her hand onto Emma's shoulder to steady herself as she climbed into the tub and breathed in the fragrant scent rising from the water, winding around her body as she bent her knees and lowered herself into it. Unsure how Emma had done it, and suspecting that some magic, at least, had been employed to engender the wisps of something that was overwhelmingly _Emma_, Regina sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back against the firm body of the blonde.

Two arms slid around her torso and warm breath tickled just under her ear. "There," Emma whispered, "isn't that fucking amazing?"

Regina let out a slow, deep groan of contentment. "I'm not entirely sure I'd use those exact words, but yes; this is quite the luxury."

"You think Fairytale Land would let me be the Savior from here?" Emma's voice buzzed against Regina's neck. "Because I don't wanna leave, ever."

"And what about me?" Regina purred, smiling as Emma's fingers slid over her skin, gliding through the water to creep up towards her breasts. "Should I leave?"

Emma's fingers stopped. She rested her forehead onto Regina's shoulder for a moment, her breath hitching as everything she'd shut out hurtled towards her. She would get over losing Storybrooke, her world, the life she'd forged there. But losing her family was unconscionable. Unacceptable. Irrevocable.

Lifting her head, she pressed her lips to Regina's neck. "Not for a second," she breathed.

They sat together, water lapping around their bodies, lulling them into a moment that pulled them away from where they were, from the land that wanted to claim them. They existed outside of it, in a place where histories were created that belonged to only them.

Pushing Regina forwards, Emma ran her fingers down the lines of the other woman's back, tracing rivulets of sensation over skin, smiling tenderly at the way Regina shivered and arched away from her. Grasping handfuls of long, black hair, Emma swept it to one side, draping it over Regina's shoulder.

"I love your hair long, like this," she said. "It makes you look younger."

Regina twisted around, a single eyebrow rising towards her hairline. "I'm going to assume that's your attempt at a joke."

"No, I mean it," Emma said as Regina huffed and turned around again. "Maybe it's coming back here, or maybe it's the three of us together, but you're different here." She reached over the side of the bath for a cake of soap and dipped it into the water, rubbing it between her palms.

"So are you," Regina responded, bending her head forwards as Emma began soaping her back, pushing lather into skin and muscle with the heel of her hands. "Are we going to talk about what happened?"

Emma's hands paused. She grunted, then sighed. When she'd envisaged taking a long soak with Regina, broaching the prickly subject of her magic hadn't been _quite_ what she'd had in mind. Troubling her more often than not lately, it seemed that the more Regina taught her about magic, the stronger it became; the more likely Emma was to let it rush to the surface and overtake her completely.

"Stop worrying," Emma soothed, digging her thumbs into the base of Regina's neck, feeling it hard and tight beneath her touch. "It's fine. I'm working on it."

"One of the most volatile women I've ever met is going to control powerful magic by keeping her temper," Regina intoned. "Yes, I'm sure that'll be fine."

"Listen," Emma screwed her knuckles into Regina's trapezius and was somewhat appeased by the sharp breath she heard in response, "it doesn't happen that often and when it does, you're around. You help to stop it, you know. So…as long as you're here, then…"

"It's not me," Regina said abruptly, and Emma's fingers paused briefly once more. "It's the emotion," she continued, "the intent."

Emma's fingers slid around Regina's neck before spreading white lather over her shoulders. "Intent?" she repeated. "What does intent have to do with it?"

"Intent is **everything**," Regina insisted, leaning back into Emma's touch. "Magic grows from that, it follows what you want. That's what you need to control, not the magic."

Cupping water in her hand, Emma let it splash down over Regina's back and shoulders, following it with her palm. "So when I get angry…"

"Your lack of emotional control means the magic can take over. And believe me, Emma, you do **not** want that to happen. Magic is a wonderful servant, but it makes for a wicked master."

Regina's head sank back onto Emma's shoulder and she thought of all the times when magic had been her only outlet; a deep abyss into which she could pour all of her pain, her hatred and her grief. It became the only way to feel _anything_, in the end. The only way to remind herself that she was still capable of emotion at all.

There was only one thing more powerful than all the magic in the land: the most powerful enchantment to befall any living creature. And Emma was quite literally created from it. But her life, so embittered and lonely, had cast a stain over true love's child and Regina knew that there was a darkness in Emma that had gathered in the cold, shadowed places of her heart. But magic sensed everything; it whirled around every cell of Emma's body and infiltrated even those parts of herself that Emma sought to hide.

"But, what I said before," Emma's voice sounded close to Regina's ear, "about you stopping it. How does that work? Because in the war room, when you – "

"Tell me what you felt," Regina interrupted. "In the war room, when you looked at me, what did you feel?"

Emma shifted behind her and they both moved, settled, stilled. The only sound for a few, pensive moments was the water, trickling around their bodies, splashing gently against the side of the vast bathtub.

"I was **so** angry," Emma said in a hushed voice. "God, I was so mad at all the times I've had to go to my mother's castle and listen to them talk about you the way they do."

She laughed mirthlessly and let out a grating sigh. "It's just…this whole thing, Regina. It's crazy. And it's making **me** crazy. The magic, it's a way of letting that crazy out, you know?"

"Yes, dear," Regina murmured, lips turning downwards with the memory of it. "Indeed I do."

"Then you're there, and you're telling me it's okay. And I remember thinking how fucked up it all is, because without Henry, you wouldn't have me and without me, you wouldn't have Henry. But without you, Regina, I'd have never gone to that – the other world in the first place. I wouldn't have done everything I did, had Henry, come to Storybrooke and met you. And it was just going round and round in my head that it's like some kind of destiny or something ,which is stupid and messed up."

Emma laughed softly, wonderingly, and tightened her embrace around Regina. "But you know what? I spent most of my life looking for my parents, but what I found was a family. And they come in all different shapes and sizes. You and Henry weren't what I was expecting but I just…"

She paused as that day seeped into her memory: her mother's wide, frightened eyes at the rejection that Emma threw towards her; the courtiers who only knew her as Emma, not as the princess they were anticipating she'd become. Drawing her sword had been instinctive – armor against the garb that other people were trying to make her wear that didn't fit and never would.

And then there had been Regina and Henry. The only two people who really knew her, perhaps. The only two people who gave her the security and familiarity that her own world had.

Dropping a kiss onto Regina's shoulder, Emma sighed a warm breath over the other woman's wet skin. She'd never really given much credence to fairytales, much less the ideas behind them. But if true love really _was_ the most powerful magic of all, then maybe she just had to accept that it really could offer protection against things that sought to harm her.

Regina's fingers crept over her own beneath the surface of the water and Emma heard the little noise of peaceful surrender that came from the other woman's throat. Giving in to this was one of the hardest things Regina had ever done, Emma knew that now. So maybe it was time she gave in to it, too, and let it give her a kind of strength that she'd never really experienced before.

"When I looked at you," she said slowly, "I felt…it felt safe."

Charming was awake. He'd been awake for several minutes but didn't move, still trapped in the ever-recurring nightmares that had now typified his nights for weeks. His body felt frozen in much the same way he suspected his spirit had been in Storybrooke: vestiges of it ever-present and wanting to drift towards the surface, towards life and movement but unable to summon up the energy and impetus to do so.

He'd dreamt of Emma again. But this time, his dreams had been visceral, the stench of blood and battle and smoke rising in his nostrils; his arm heavy with armor and his sword; his will sapped by a growing discontent and the understanding that the fight never really ended. Returning to the life they'd known was impossible and all that remained was something that swelled his throat and roiled in his belly like the onset of the storms that had battered their stronghold for days.

A sound came, somewhere between a whimper and a groan, and it wasn't until the figure beside him stirred that Charming realized the noise came from his own throat, from the troubled sleep that lingered even into his waking moments. Finally able to move, he lifted a hand and wiped it over his face as Snow rose up beside him, a frown crinkling her brow.

"What is it?" she asked, stroking her fingers down his arm. "More bad dreams?"

He nodded silently, his hand grasping at her fingers, seeking the sort of strength she'd always given him. But it was cold comfort in the pale light of morning, seeping in through the window of their chamber. Charming couldn't help the tiny shiver that inched down his spine and let out a sigh as Snow moved in closer, her body offering the sort of warmth he sought but simply couldn't feel in the shadow of his fearful nightmares.

"Something is very wrong," he said gruffly. "I feel it, Snow."

"Coming back here hasn't been as easy as you thought," Snow said in a soothing tone, "and it's difficult for you – I understand that."

"No," Charming shook his head and glanced at his wife. "It's more than that. I thought if we came back here things would return to normal – to the way it always was for us. Happy ever after and fairytale endings. But it's…it's different now. Nothing is the same."

"**Some** things are the same," Snow ventured. "We're together, and we love one another."

Charming offered her a paltry smile at her attempts to console him, but the heaviness in his chest glittered in his gaze as he dropped his head back onto the pillow and sighed up into the vaulted ceiling overhead.

"This isn't the happy ending I envisaged," he muttered grimly. "Our daughter is a grown woman, with powers beyond her control. And the woman she's in love with is…"

"I know," Snow murmured, reaching up and laying her palm over his brow for a moment. "It's hard to trust her."

"I don't," Charming let out a mirthless bark of laughter. "How can I? Her past speaks to the woman she's become, and her future isn't yet written. How can I trust what I see in the present when I know what she's capable of?"

"I struggle with it too," Snow told him, chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully. "But Emma knows what she's doing. I'm sure of it. Our daughter is still **ours**, and I have to put my faith in the fact that she has a pure heart."

She leaned over and kissed his temple, nestling against him as he let out a protracted sigh.

"Just like you," she whispered. Because if she knew anything about her husband, then it was that his heart was as strong and fearless as the strength he wielded; that it would always love without constraint and believe in that love, too.

"In my dreams," Charming began, then sucked in a hitching, cautious breath, "Emma isn't full of love. She's full of hate. I can see it in her eyes. She's angry and lost and that scares me. I don't know how to help her and if I – if I don't know how to do that, then what kind of a father am I?"

"The **best** kind," Snow said in a hard, determined tone. Her eyes gleamed as she stared down at her husband, heart swelling with compassion and love for the fealty he'd sworn to her – to their marriage and the union that had brought peace to their kingdom after a hard-won battle.

"All we can do is love her," she added. "All we can do is tell her, and trust that her heart will lead her in the right direction."

"And Regina?" Charming asked, turning to look into his wife's eyes. "In what direction will she lead Emma? This magic…this power that they have, I don't understand it and don't trust it."

"I know," Snow said, worry forming lines around her eyes. "But the Blue Fairy and her cohorts are working hard to formulate a spell that might…if we need to…"

Her voice trailed away as she pressed her lips together and fell into contemplative silence. Because the thought of having to restrain or control her own daughter was anathema to her, and reminded her far too much of a history she'd rather forget, where mothers simply weren't _meant_ to subject their daughters to magic. Her own mother had nurtured her. But Regina's mother…well, Cora had designed Regina's fate, guided by a hand far more powerful than any of them.

It wasn't what Snow wanted for Emma. It wasn't what she'd wanted for Regina, either.

"We won't be too late this time," she whispered to herself.

Charming leaned up onto one elbow and frowned at her, shaking his head. "What do you mean, **this time**?" he asked.

Pulling herself out of the memories that cast a dark shadow over their pasts, Snow blinked back tears of regret, of shame and responsibility that she'd ignored for far too long.

"Our daughter saved us," she told him. "For better or worse, she saved us all. I won't hesitate to save her, should she need us to."

In the few, scant moments after she'd given birth, Snow had been a mother. But for the time in between then and the breaking of the curse, she'd forgotten the rush of unconditional love she'd felt towards the tiny baby in her arms; how she'd vowed to protect and love and care for the child, no matter what it took. It was true: she didn't know anything about being a mother; she'd never had the time or comprehension of who she was in order to learn. But she knew now, more than ever before, that the sort of mother she needed to be wasn't found in fairytales, nor was it within the confines of her own experience as a child. And the examples she'd seen in Cora and Regina were uncomfortable in her memory, pricking it with sorrow and the understanding that lost time was indeed that, and could never be regained.

But the mother she could be now – that was all she had to offer. If she was going to do so, then she would with her entire self, because she remembered how it felt to love another human being more than herself and have that child ripped from her embrace.

And _that_, Snow pledged to herself, would never happen again. She wouldn't lose Emma a second time.

A loud banging on their door startled them both, Charming leaping from the bed and rushing across the room to throw the heavy door open, one of his guards standing outside.

"Your Majesty," the guard said in a rushed, breathless voice. "I'm sorry to disturb you but there's – an emissary has arrived at the palace gates. He's demanding to see you."

"An emissary?" Charming looked back at Snow, gazing at him from the bed, eyes wide with alarm. "An emissary from whom?"

The guard shifted awkwardly and tugged at his doublet. "From your father. From King George."

"That man is **not** my father!" Charming roared, planting his hands onto the table in the War Room and rising to his feet. The rather waspish man across the table from him flinched and looked away, half expecting his head to roll at what was perceived as impertinence. But he'd been given strict orders, and in a world where kingship and royalty outweighed personal choice, King George represented a far greater threat to his mortality than Prince Charming ever could.

"Be that as it may," the emissary said in a tremulous voice, "the king wishes to give you prior notice of his intention to – "

"He's not a king," Snow cut in, laying her hand onto Charming's arm as he dropped heavily back into his seat. "He gave up any rights to his kingdom when he vowed to destroy us. We fought him. We won."

The emissary fixed her with a look of dubious disdain, but was wise enough not to argue. After all, he reasoned silently, the time for discussion was most certainly over. Nobody had asked to return to this godforsaken land; there were many who hadn't wanted it, either. In Storybrooke, the emissary had been an accountant who found that dealing with the unchanging reliability of figures was far more fulfilling than navigating his way through the mire of protocol and duty. Especially when, he thought with a sigh, he was thrust into the enemy camp and ordered to deliver such damning news.

It wasn't how he'd envisaged living out his days, and he longed for the quiet solace of his office back on Main Street, ensconced in a room above the cobblers and largely left to his own devices.

"King George wishes to refute your claim to the kingdom," he finally said stiffly. "He's found some allies and is gathering an army. Tradition states he must needs inform you of his intentions and that's why I'm here."

"Allies?" Charming echoed, eyebrows rising towards his hairline. "What allies in this land could possibly want to align themselves with **him**?"

"I'm not permitted to say," the emissary told him, clenching his hands together beneath the table.

"He's bluffing," Snow scoffed, but her confidence was tempered by the fact that even in her ivory tower, she knew that not everyone was happy to be back in this land. It bothered her more than she cared admit, that their ending was less fulfilling than anticipated; that the people who had claimed to be homesick for their origins had found them less than satisfying once they'd returned here.

"The king wishes to meet in battle," the emissary continued, ignoring the glares of both Snow and Charming. "He claims it's the noble way to find resolution."

"He knows nothing of nobility," Charming growled. "He's a cruel man and an even worse father. Whatever his demands, we will not capitulate to them."

"Oh," the emissary allowed himself a tiny smile because for all the years he'd been under George's rule and invited into the inner circle of his court, one thing remained true: Prince James had taken after his father, while Prince Charming most definitely did not. "The king isn't making demands so much as a statement of intent."

"He's declaring war," Snow said, with a worried look at her husband. Her hand crept over his and their fingers intertwined, grasping one another tightly.

"He's taking back what is rightfully his," the emissary explained. "And once he's amassed the power to do so, you'll find yourself in a position less able to protest. I'm here to offer you the opportunity to surrender quickly and easily."

"We don't do that," Charming said, one hand on the table, clenching into a fist of defiance. "We will **never** do that, not to him."

The emissary evaluated the odds in his head – it was, after all, what he was good at – and weighed up the possibilities of war, of what it might mean for this land. Defeat wasn't an option, King George had said, with an almost hungry gleam in his eye at the thought of beating his foe into submission. Last time had been pitiful; too many had died and too much had been lost. This time, however, George had been plotting ever since they'd found themselves returned to a life of antagonism and tradition and a hierarchy that simply hadn't existed in Storybrooke. That other life had offered the sort of liberation that the emissary realized was now gone forever. All that remained was this: a begrudging sense of loyalty and freedom that was offered as a false friend.

"Then out of the failure of diplomacy will come bloodshed," he said, with a finality that silenced Charming and Snow, making them look at one another in horror. "The battlefield will decide."

Standing, he bowed his head in feigned respect for the royalty that had made him subservient, while his heart yearned for the world that had been ripped away and a life that was cursed, where he'd been happy, after a fashion.

"Wait," Charming called out, as the emissary was ushered towards the door of the War Room by two guards. Getting to his feet, Charming gathered his cloak around his shoulders and looked carefully at the emissary. There was a tightness to the other man's face, a reluctance that was obvious despite his deference to George's standing. Nobody wanted war; it simply wasn't the way they'd learned to live in Storybrooke. But in this world, it was how they'd existed, how they'd survived.

It just didn't offer the same sort of nobility that Charming wanted to embody anymore. And for a second, he thought of his dreams, of Emma cutting a swathe through bodies with her sword and magic. Prescient fear sharpened his senses and he shook his head sadly. No matter the animosity between himself and the man who'd tried to steal him as a son, killing simply wasn't the answer anymore.

"What will appease him?" he asked. "What will it take for him to stop this madness?"

The emissary straightened and looked at Charming in a moment of tacit understanding, but weary acceptance that a life here was borne of fighting and would be again.

"Surrender," he said simply. "The throne, the kingdom. All that you took from him."

"No!" Snow shot to her feet and looked between her husband and the emissary, eyes wide and face contorted into a stubborn refusal to admit that what they had now was wrong – that it could _ever_ be wrong.

"We took what belonged to us," she said harshly. "And we brought peace to this realm."

The emissary's eyebrows rose but he merely inclined his head and took a short breath. "Peace," he said quietly. "That's a subjective way of looking at it, your Majesty.

He thought of his home in Storybrooke, of the simple pleasures he'd found there and the solitude that had offered him more peace than he'd ever found in this world.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Snow barked, as Charming put his arm protectively around her shoulders and drew her against him.

"That peace comes at a price," the emissary told her. "And that it will again. The king will rise up against you and he will brook no dissent this time. War is coming, your Majesty, whether you want it or not."

"So then, Emma asked if I wanted funny shapes or rounds," Henry looked up at Ruby and grinned as they walked by the river that ran alongside the castle grounds. "I asked for rounds, but they kinda came out in funny shapes anyway," he added.

Ruby slung an arm around his shoulders and tugged him against her in a hug. She'd missed the kid, prompting a visit to Regina's castle that she claimed was because she never got to see Emma and Henry much anymore. But Snow had asked her to keep careful watch on what was happening there, and Ruby had been more than eager to leave the safety of Snow's kingdom to spend time with the people she'd grown to care about. Even if, she thought ruefully, that meant spending time with Regina, too.

"Sounds like Emma's using her powers for good, right?" Ruby laughed, letting go of Henry as he scampered away from her and grabbed a branch from the riverside, swiping at the tall blades of grass on the bank.

"I guess," he turned, wandering backwards in front of her. "I think she was showing off a bit," he shrugged, "because she's got all this magic now."

There was a look that flitted over his features, giving Ruby pause. For all Henry's enthusiasm about magic and what it could do, he didn't seem as pleased as she'd anticipated. In fact, Ruby thought, moving a little closer and watching as Henry kicked at tufts of grass, he seemed worried.

He wasn't the only one. Snow had expressed concern over Emma's growing power, and Ruby had seen for herself how it manifested in the force that had propelled Snow away in the War Room. _Magic_, Ruby thought to herself; it was unpredictable. Perhaps it always had been in the hands of those not raised to respect it, serve it, manage it.

"Hey," she said, reaching for Henry again, one hand resting on his shoulder, "Emma's going to learn how to control it, you know."

"Is she?" Henry squinted up at her. "I know my mom's teaching her stuff but…"

He shrugged again in that careless way he always did when something bothered him, and Ruby frowned, wishing she could offer him the sort of platitudes that he needed; the sort of assurance he clearly required. But she couldn't, because she knew how it felt to have power inside her that she was too weak to control, too afraid to confront.

Swallowing over the memories this land held for her, made in flesh and blood that she'd hungered for and used to sate the beast inside her, Ruby glanced across the rolling lawn towards where the castle walls rose steeply from the ground. Emma and Regina were distant shapes, but with her acuity of vision, Ruby could see them quite clearly.

"Your mom," she said to Henry, "she's very powerful."

"I know," Henry nodded. "And you think she's evil."

It was more his blunt manner than anything else that made Ruby stare at him in surprise. She stopped walking, letting go of Henry and folding her arms over her chest.

"Henry, I don't – "

"Yeah, you do," he said. There was a sad downturn to his mouth, a tiny worry fleeting through his gaze. "Everyone does," he added.

"I think she used to be," Ruby told him. "And I think having her close to Emma's magic might be tempting for her to start using her own."

Henry drew back his arm, driving it forwards and flinging the stick into the river where it splashed loudly into the water, floating for a few moments before sinking beneath the surface.

"She's not like she used to be," he said, but his voice was glum with the effort of repetition; he'd said it so many times to himself that saying it to other people had become more rote than anything else. "I think she's changed because…because if she hasn't, then how could I…you know…love her? How could Emma?"

"Love's a funny thing," Ruby laughed softly, despite her growing anxiety. "And I'm not the person you should be asking. I mean, when it comes to love, I'm really not the expert."

"But you lived here before," Henry turned to her, blinking innocently up at her. "You lived in a fairytale and you saw my…Snow and Charming fall in love. You saw my mom fall in love too, back in Storybrooke."

It felt like a hundred years ago, Ruby thought to herself, since the days when she'd seen Regina and Emma circle one another like wary predators, finally succumbing to something that she had witnessed in wonder and pleasure. Because it _had_ been wonderful; without the knowledge of who Regina was and what she'd done, Ruby had felt hope that if Mayor Mills could open up her heart and feel love's pull on it, then it might just happen for her, too.

"Things were – it was all different back then, though," she said gently, as Henry's face screwed up into a doubtful expression. "We didn't have all of this," she flung out her arm and gestured around the land surrounding them.

"And your mom didn't have magic," she added. "But now they both do."

"**Magic**," Henry said, shaking his head. "I used to think it was the only thing that could save everyone and now it's just…it's just…"

"Not how you expected it to be?" Ruby supplied and he nodded slowly, heaving a great sigh.

"Yeah, I get that." She smiled kindly at him. "Take it from me, being back here isn't how I thought it was going to be, either."

"What do you mean?"

"That wanting power and having it aren't the same thing," she explained. But the boy still looked nonplussed and she grabbed his shoulders, turning him to face her and crouching down so that their eyes were on an equal level.

"I have all the memories of being in Storybrooke," she told him. "And I remember feeling stuck there, powerless to change my life in the ways I wanted to. I felt trapped and lonely and all I wanted was to be able to take control of things, to change, to…to be something…something else, you know? Something better."

"But you're Red Riding Hood!" Henry exclaimed. "You're **so** much cooler than you think you are."

"Maybe," Ruby smiled sadly. "But I'm also part wolf. I can feel it in everything…everywhere. My senses are so much sharper than before. I can smell the animals in the forest, move quicker than anyone else and I'm strong, Henry. I'm so strong now."

He gazed at her, unblinking and solemn as she took a breath and closed her eyes for a second. She felt it swell inside of her even now – the wolf, the beast that had done so much damage and taken so many lives. Sometimes, Ruby felt as though she'd never quite assuage the guilt that assaulted her from every side as she moved through this land, reminders of what she'd been in the fearful faces of villagers even if they never dared blame her outright.

"But sometimes I can't help wondering if Regina didn't do us all a favor by taking us away from here," she continued, her fingers stroking over Henry's shoulders in an absent, affectionate gesture. "You see, Henry, having a part of you that wants to take over completely isn't easy. And when the nights change and the moon is full, I'm sometimes afraid of what I might do."

"You learned to control it, though," Henry insisted. "I know you did. You helped Snow and Charming take back the kingdom and – "

"Yeah, I did," Ruby interjected, allowing herself a tiny smile of remembered pride. But along with it, she also remembered her mother and the wolves who had brought her to her true self, and the price she'd paid in order to find her real family, her real self.

"The thing is, Henry, coming back here hasn't been easy for any of us. I've had to learn to control myself all over again and it's…well," she pressed her lips together and shrugged helplessly at him. "I gotta tell you, kid, it's hard. So if **I'm** struggling with it, then I can only imagine what your mom must feel like."

He looked at her gravely, a frown burrowing between his brows as he tried to quantify what she'd said. It was true, he thought, that Fairy Tale Land wasn't exactly the happy ending he'd thought it might be. Not for Ruby, not for anyone. The disappointment that had been niggling inside his brain for the last few weeks burgeoned into something bigger than the stories he'd clung to back in Storybrooke. And he knew without shadow of a doubt that for all those years he'd thought Regina a liar, it was the book that had been the real falsehood in his life.

"She's good now, though," he said in a small voice, his head sinking onto his chest. "She just wants to be…be my mom."

A finger beneath his chin lifted his head and he looked into Ruby's eyes, shining with what looked like tears, understanding and a sympathy that he hadn't seen in anyone else since they came here. And hope bloomed briefly in his heart.

"Tell you what," Ruby quirked a smile at him, "how about you and me find the kitchen and see about making some more pancakes? I might not work at Granny's anymore, but I figure I can still put together something delicious for you."

Henry reached for her hand as she stood up, linking his fingers through hers and squeezing gently. "Funny shapes or rounds?" he asked, cocking his head onto one side and looking up at her.

Ruby laughed. "Whatever you want, Henry."

They made their way back along the river towards the pathway that led back up to the castle, Ruby casting a glance backwards towards the far off figures of Emma and Regina. Change was difficult, she thought to herself. But believing in the possibility of it, even in a land where magic happened, was even harder.

Emma held her hands out in front of her, a ball of light between them, turning and casting out sparks as it trembled and failed to completely hold its shape. This had all seemed a lot easier before, in the confines of their room with little to distract them. But outside in the open, Emma was distracted by _everything_: the small flock of birds that had risen, squawking from nearby trees, the flutter of some geese on the river, even the breeze itself snatched at her hair and attention as she tried to follow Regina's instructions.

Puffing out her cheeks, Emma felt beads of sweat form on her forehead and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the bundle of energy between her palms. But even as she did so, it flickered, losing shape entirely and fading away to nothing, replaced only by a growing sense of frustration that finally emerged from her lips in an unsatisfied groan.

"Fuck!" she spat, throwing up her hands and turning to Regina, standing close behind her. "I could **do** this before!"

"You're trying too hard, dear," Regina said, in what was intended to be a soothing tone, but she could hear that it sounded less like comfort and more like a disapproving schoolteacher. Her lips pursed in annoyance and she reasoned that perhaps Emma wasn't the only one who was failing to succeed.

"Yesterday you told me I wasn't trying hard enough," Emma grunted, flexing her fingers and casting a distinctly unimpressed look towards Regina.

"It's about the balance between power and intent," Regina said airily, waving her hand in the air.

"Right," Emma shrugged, "and you'd know all about **that**."

She could tell from the pained expression that crossed Regina's features that she'd said too much, and a part of her wanted nothing more than to take the other woman in her arms and apologize. But humility was an emotion Emma simply couldn't afford, not when her body strained towards magic and her blood was quite literally heated with it, boiling its way down her arms to tingle at the ends of her fingers.

"Look," Emma said, turning away so didn't have to see the hurt on Regina's face, "let's both face it, I might have all this magical stuff inside me, but it doesn't mean I'm going to be able to use it. I can't…I can't do anything. It's too strong."

"No, it's not," Regina coaxed, putting her hand onto Emma's shoulder. She shivered slightly as she felt power course through the other woman; she'd always known that Emma was special, but to have confirmation of it burning against her touch made her fearful of just how strong Emma's magic was. How it tempted her into surrendering to her own power, lurking beneath the surface of everything and whispering seduction into her brain.

"It's like, I know what I want it to do," Emma said dolefully, offering Regina a tight smile. "But it's about as uncooperative as you on a bad day."

Regina's eyebrows rose, nostrils flaring slightly. "Really?" she asked. "**That's** your analogy?"

Emma smirked and shrugged equivocally. "Some of us like that in a woman," she said, leaning in towards Regina.

"If I remember correctly, you claimed **not** to like that for the longest time," Regina answered adroitly. "In fact, you appeared to do everything you could to engender me being distinctly uncooperative."

"Oh yeah?" Emma said, stepping forwards and sliding her arms around the other woman's waist. "And who's to say that wasn't all some long sort of flirtation, huh? Besides, I like a challenge."

"Emma," Regina breathed as lips descended onto her neck and she closed her eyes, turning her face up towards the midday sun, "when it comes to a challenge, there's really nothing more trying than what you laughingly call flirting."

"I'm not laughing now," Emma murmured, her mouth fastening onto the pulse point beneath Regina's ear, lips sucking hard enough to elicit a faint sigh from the other woman.

"No," Regina gathered herself and planted her hands onto Emma's shoulders, firmly pushing the blonde away from her – but not, Emma noted smugly, without some difficulty. "You're changing the subject because it suits you. I'm supposed to be teaching you how to use your powers and I'm rather afraid you're intent on diverting me from that."

Like a recalcitrant child, Emma's mouth formed a moue of protest and she folded her arms over her chest, huffing out a short breath of discontent.

"Because it's boring!" she exclaimed. "I'm not interested in magic unless it can provide me with a steady supply of cheeseburgers and fries, to be honest."

"Then your priorities are woefully misplaced," Regina snapped, and there was an irritation gleaming in her eyes that made Emma blink, alarmed.

"You have a responsibility to – " Regina began, but Emma lifted a hand, stopping her short.

"Yeah, I get it," Emma barked, jaw clenched and hands balling into fists. "And don't think I don't hear that from everyone – my parents, the High Council, **everyone** tells me what my responsibilities are. I don't wanna hear it from you, too, Regina."

The magic bubbled up inside her, giving her a raging strength that she knew would burst out of her if she didn't – couldn't – stop it. She turned towards Regina and shook her head.

"Help me," she whispered, before bending, clutching her fists to her stomach. It was all too much, fear and anger colliding within her, creating chaos where there was supposed to be calm. But she _wasn't_ calm, and she _wasn't_ in control. With a loud cry, Emma straightened, her body rigid. Stretching out her arms, two plumes of dazzling light emerged from her fingertips, reaching high up into the sky. Emma looked at Regina, the magic reflecting deep in her eyes, making them shine with unearthly, golden light. But there was terror there, too, beseeching Regina even as Emma gritted her teeth and tried – so hard – to exert some control over what was happening to her.

It was instinct that took over as Regina fought to battle against her own desires, and lost. If it was emotion, as she'd explained to Emma, that formed the true driving force behind magic, then that was what propelled Regina into action. Restraint had no place now, and as Emma turned a gaze upon her that was pitiful and full of the fear that her powers instilled, Regina stretched out her own fingers, slowing her breathing until the world seemed to stop around them.

Emma's magic was increasing in intensity, turning into huge swathes of flame that burned high above their heads, throwing off sparks that glowed in the air like blackened cinders. Turning her face away from it, Emma was aware only of Regina moving closer before she closed her eyes and bit down so hard on her lip that she tasted the copper tang of blood in her mouth.

It burned. Everything inside her burned. She felt her veins, hot and painful, throbbing with the power that ran roughshod over everything she'd tried to control. But at the second when she thought she simply couldn't stand it any longer, Emma felt relief flooding over her, blessed rain after a summer drought. Daring to open her eyes, she saw Regina little more than a few paces away, her stance similarly set as she raised her arms to the sky and extended her fingers.

Regina's magic was dark, as clouded as Emma's was bright. Lavender smoke trickled from shaking fingers, winding itself around the flames that billowed above their heads. Regina's face was set in hard lines as her magic blended with Emma's, tempering the flames, dulling their ferocity, quieting the raging storm.

"I'm here," Regina said, and Emma looked at her now, their gazes meeting. Regina nodded and her eyes darkened almost to black.

"I'm here, Emma," she said again. "Now focus. Feel. Think about what you want."

"I…" Emma struggled to force the words out, feeling emotion rise inside her chest and wrap itself around her heart. But it wasn't the anger she'd felt before; this time it was something new, something beautiful, something that she couldn't quite define and wasn't sure she even wanted to. "I feel…Regina, I feel – "

"I know," Regina said, breathless. Because from the second her magic combined with Emma's, she had felt the same sensation surge through her own body. It was a displacement of emotion, a strange palate of newness yet familiarity. She shivered with it, succumbed to it in the same way she'd given herself over to Emma in Storybrooke. The inevitable, it seemed, was intertwined with their fates in the same way that her magic wound itself around Emma's, chilling the fire, warming her soul.

They looked up to where white and purple curled around one another, woven in a tapestry of strength and power. The flames had begun to die down, disappearing behind the gathering clouds of magic until they could no longer be seen licking towards the sky. And then, Emma gasped aloud, tiny white flakes began to fall around them, covering the grass at their feet and settling onto their shoulders before melting away to nothing.

Quiet descended over Emma's mind, pushing the darkness away and leaving her with an encroaching sense of peace. _Peace_. The thing she'd searched for all her life. To find it now, in this foreign land, in the essence of powers that she desperately wanted to rid herself of sent a new strength racing across her skin. She could almost _see_ it, covering every part of her; a benediction of might and pure energy. Regina could feel it too: Emma knew that as she dared look at the other woman again, mouth falling open as she saw how it changed the other woman, how it cast a sheen over her face and brought a smile to lips that Emma had kissed countless times.

By the time the clouds over their head had all but dissipated to nothing, Regina had dropped her arms and was wrapping them around herself, staggering backwards a few paces as though drunk. Emma knew how she felt, her own head light and dizzy and swimming with a buzzing power that made her feel alive in a way she never had before.

"Oh…holy shit," Emma whispered, her mouth dry, lips numb. She moved towards Regina, hands outstretched. All she wanted was to be close to the source of whatever had just happened. All she wanted was to hold Regina close, feel her heart beating, taste her and consume her as entirely as the magic had done her own body. But even as she moved, Regina stumbled backwards again, away from Emma's arms.

"No," Regina said, shaking her head, eyes wild. "I shouldn't have – Emma – that was – "

"Fucking amazing," Emma said hoarsely.

"No," Regina said again, her voice tight and strained.

"It **was**!" Emma blurted. "That was incredible. Your magic, Regina. Yours and mine together. What the…what hell **was** that? I've never felt that before. And you…you were – "

"I can't," Regina cried, holding up a hand to ward Emma off as the blonde approached. "I can't…I can't do this, Emma. I'm sorry. I can't."

A strangled sob escaped her throat before she pressed a hand to her mouth, horrified and sickened. Drawing in a ragged breath, Regina shook her head again wordlessly, then turned on her heel and raced across the grass towards the castle.


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

Emma found Regina in their bedchamber, having searched the castle as quickly as she could with raising too much concern. Entering the room, she closed the door quietly behind her, leaning against it and looking across the room while she tried to catch her breath.

Regina was hunched on the bed, knees drawn up in front of her, arms encircling them. Her face was turned away, almost hidden from view but Emma knew she'd been crying. These days, she felt as though she knew Regina almost as well as she knew herself. Although, she thought wryly, _that_ wasn't saying much given their predicament, her discovered legacy and the damned magic that was the reason they were here in the first place.

The woman on the bed, however, looked about as far from being an Evil Queen as it was possible to be. She didn't even look like the stoic, poised Mayor that Emma had encountered during her first days in Storybrooke; and certainly not the impossible, infuriating, magnificently complicated woman that Emma had fallen in love with.

Regina looked like a terrified, shaken little child.

"Regina," Emma said gently, pushing off from the door and moving towards the bed.

"**Don't**." Regina held out a hand, palm up, before lifting it to her face and swiping beneath her eyes. "Don't come near me."

Emma halted midway across the floor, hovering as she battled between ignoring Regina or abiding by her wishes. She could see that the other woman was trembling slightly and, if she was honest, she could understand why. The last vestiges of the magic they'd performed together were still crawling around her own body, making her feel a little dazed, quite unlike herself. Or, at least, the person she'd _thought_ she was. But this feeling – this was new and unfamiliar and even as she sensed the sickly fear coming off Regina in waves, curiosity compelled her to seek answers.

Inching forwards, Emma shoved her hands into the pockets of her breeches, hating the way they felt against her skin. For a second, she wanted nothing more than to be back in Storybrooke, where magic didn't exist, where she had the comfort of her clothes, her car, her home. She and Regina might have railed against each other there, but doing it in her own world was contained within a realm of experience that Emma could manage, more or less.

This, however, this _magic_ and this land and the way people were expected to live here…it was beyond anything Emma had ever known. She was so far out of her depth that she felt like she was drowning in it, with no hope of ever breaking the surface and coming up for air.

"Please, Regina," Emma said, holding out her hands in entreaty. "Come on, you have to help me with this. I don't understand what happened out there!"

Regina's arms tightened around her legs, fingers pressing against one another so hard that the tips turned white. "Magic," she muttered. "**That's** what happened."

"Yeah, I know that," Emma sighed, taking another step towards the bed. "I just…I don't understand why you're reacting like this. You've done magic before – that time when I set the tree on fire. And it was fine then, so I don't know why you're – "

"Parlor tricks!" Regina spat. "That was **nothing** compared to…it was easy. No more than a second thought."

"Compared to **what**?" Emma demanded, darting onto the end of the bed and reaching out to Regina. The other woman flinched away from her, eyes widening fearfully. But she saw the surprised hurt that burgeoned over Emma's features and hated it. Hated herself for causing it, too.

"You're gonna have to talk about this," Emma said in a low tone. "I'm not going anywhere until you do."

"Then you're going to have a long wait, dear," Regina uncurled from the bed, springing to her feet and moving across to the huge window of their room, staring out of it at the grounds that fell away from the castle walls.

"No, I don't think I am," Emma said stubbornly, irritation making her words staccato, heightened by desperation. She looked at Regina, at the troubled expression carving deep lines around the other woman's eyes, at how her lips trembled over words that seemed just too difficult to say.

"I wish you could have seen yourself out there," Emma ventured after a few long minutes of silence. Regina turned and looked at her, confusion etched across her brow.

"It made you happy, didn't it? The magic. Feeling it again."

It seemed like such a paltry word to describe it, Regina thought. She closed her eyes for a moment; she could still feel the remnants of euphoria in her veins: a buzzing backwash of emotion that was left after the tidal wave of Emma's magic crashed over her own. She could still taste the purity of it, the strength and power…yes, _always_ power. Perhaps that was what had brought them together in the first place. Perhaps a part of her had always known just what and who Emma was. And she, like a moth to the flame, had gravitated towards the other woman instinctively, without caution and without restraint.

To dismiss how she'd felt as _happy_ didn't even begin to quantify it – Regina wasn't sure that she even could. Magic had once been the only constant in her life, giving her the strength she needed to survive, to live on a diet of rage and power. Even when she'd tried to replace it with Henry, and latterly with Emma, the longing for it was always there at the back of everything.

"Listen, I don't know about this stuff like you do," Emma said. "But when you…when we did that together it was…something happened. Something **different**. I could see it on your face. You felt it too, didn't you?"

There was a pleading note to Emma's voice; the desperate desire to know that she wasn't a lone witness to what they'd experienced. Regina clasped her hands together, bowing her head in a silent nod of agreement.

Emma moved to stand behind her, one hand resting tentatively on her shoulder. A shiver ran down Regina's spine. Now the floodgates had been opened, she knew she would continue to feel that tremulous power in every touch, even in the mere presence of the other woman. It should have sickened her, terrified her, but still she wanted it so selfishly and so much.

"Whatever we did," she said slowly, "it mustn't happen again."

"But…**why**?" Emma shook her head, confused, blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders.

"Because I didn't want to stop!" Regina turned, eyes gleaming with a hungry light. "The power, Emma…it's incredible. Your power is incredible. Out there," she flung a hand towards the window, "I tasted it; it filled me up and made me feel like I could do **anything**. Just as it always used to. And having that much power is…it's not a place I ever want to go back to."

"You don't have to!" Emma threw up her hands and let out a grated sigh of frustration. "Regina, I know you're afraid of being that woman again, but you're **not** her. You never **will** be again. I won't let you…Henry won't let you."

Letting out a blurt of hard laughter, Regina's shoulders hitched in a dismissive gesture. "And it's that easy, is it?"

"Yes," Emma said firmly. "Jesus, what's the point in being The Savior if I can't, you know, save anyone?"

"That's a very simplistic way of putting it," Regina remarked.

"It's the **only** way of fucking putting it!" Emma barked. "You're the one person I trust enough to help me with this. What we did out there was amazing – I felt your magic and you felt mine and I want to…I want to do it again. Feel it again."

Regina's eyes flew open in horror and she stared at Emma, shaking her head in silent alarm.

"I felt connected to you," Emma frowned, bewildered by what they'd done, what they _could_ do together, given the opportunity. "In a way I've never felt connected to anyone before. It was like everything just…made sense. Like our magic was meant to be together or…or something. I don't know."

She huffed out a great sigh, shoulders slumping. She wasn't explaining this well – or at _all_. But from the moment Regina's magic had touched her own, she'd felt a greater sense of purpose and comfort than she'd experienced throughout her entire life. Wanting it again was natural, needing it again was an imperative.

"Don't you want to feel like that again?" Emma peered into Regina's face, searching her eyes for the confirmation she knew was there. "Don't you want to feel like that with **me** again?"

"More than anything," Regina said weakly, but her lips tightened at the admission and she swallowed over the lump rising in her throat. Of all the things she'd anticipated grieving over in this world, being close to Emma in such an intimate way wasn't one of them.

"That's why I can't – we can't do that again," she added sharply, nodding her head with jerky movements. "I'm…afraid, Emma."

"Afraid?" the blonde echoed. "Afraid of what?"

"Of having that sort of power again," Regina whispered. "Of using it. Of what it might do to me. Magic was the way I always got everything – a short cut to things I took without asking. If I start to rely on it once more, then…I don't – don't trust myself to use it wisely."

"But **I** trust you," Emma blinked, shaking her head. "Isn't that enough?"

Regina offered Emma a placatory smile at the sentiment, but tears prickled behind her eyes; tears she'd never shed over the life endured in this land. Her heart had become full of magic, a poor substitute for the love that she'd lost. But it had also become blackened and hardened with what her magic did, with the knowledge that there would never be enough of it to supplant the emptiness of lost love.

"I'm trying to be better," she told Emma, her voice breaking over the words. "I **want** to be better."

"Regina," Emma smiled sadly, taking the other woman's hands in her own. "Don't you know that you already are?"

"No, dear, I don't," Regina admitted, and that was the truth of it, after all. However much she might strive towards goodness, towards the thing that she used to be all those years ago, there was a part of her that knew _that_ girl had been smothered by the thick, cloying blackness she'd bent towards instead. And magic had created the safety blanket with which she covered herself.

"Just now, out there," Emma persisted, "you felt good when you used magic. Don't tell me that you didn't."

"It made me feel whole," Regina said, looking down to where Emma's thumb rubbed over the back of her hand. "Like a piece of my heart that was missing somehow came back. Your magic…Emma, it was all you."

"No," Emma said, shaking her head. "It was **us**. Together. I wasn't lying when I told you I felt safe, you know. For the first time since coming here, I understood just how much."

They stood quietly until Emma's hand pressed against Regina's cheek, an uncommon gentleness in her caress. "I can make you feel safe too, I promise."

It was ironic, Regina thought, how Emma had inherited the same blind nobility that Charming displayed. In him, Regina had always found it highly irritating, only serving to remind her of the things that were never afforded to her. But in Emma, while perhaps misguided, it was the most sincere gesture anyone had made in a long, long time.

"Let's try it again," Emma said softly.

Regina gulped, fear chilling her spine and she moved backwards, away from what would surely be her undoing, should she let it. "I – I can't. No."

Emma cocked her head onto one side, reaching out and grasping Regina's hands again, pulling the other woman towards her.

"Yes," she nodded. "You can. **We** can. You said that magic is all about balance between power and intent. You're better than that woman you used to be, Regina. Even if you don't know it, I do. And if you really want to be better, then **be** better. Show me."

Regina Mills had always possessed the strength of mind to withstand almost anything except, she gave a resigned sigh, Emma herself. And that was really all part of the problem, wasn't it? If she was weak enough to submit to Emma's will, then how could she possibly hope to fend of the seduction of her magic, having savored it with such relish and longing and unutterable need?

"Stop…stop trying to goad me into it," Regina said weakly.

"Why, is it working?" Emma quirked a hopeful grin.

"Emma…" Regina admonished quietly.

"Come on," Emma coaxed. "We can – we can try it. And if it feels bad then we can stop, okay?"

"That's just the thing, dear," Regina said, tight-lipped. "It won't feel bad. It never did."

"Regina," Emma said firmly, leading the other woman to the center of the room, "you're the biggest control freak I've ever met. **Ever**."

"I'm not entirely sure that's a compliment," Regina muttered.

"I mean that when it comes to intent, you've got more than anyone else put together," Emma told her. "That's who I fell in love with; that's who you are. You're just afraid."

"And with good reason!" Regina said, heart pounding wildly in her chest. "Magic is not something to be used lightly. It comes at a – "

"Price, yeah, I know." Emma pursed her lips, throwing her hands up in the air. "But it's in you anyway. I mean, we're born with it, right?"

She could see from Regina's reluctant nod that she was right; that magic was imbued at birth along with all the other trappings of this world. Emma hadn't asked for it, much less wanted it, but she had it, for better or worse. And so did Regina.

"So think about this, then, what's the price of **not** using it?"

Regina held out her hands and tried to ignore the fact that they were trembling.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she murmured.

"But we are," Emma said gently. "So, what's next?"

"We're going to create a ball of energy, like you've done before," Regina said shakily. She flexed her fingers, meeting Emma's eyes briefly and searching for the sort of solace she needed from the other woman, unable to find it within herself.

Twin lines appeared between Emma's brows as she focused on her hands, willing the magic to appear. A sphere formed, hovering just above her hands and a faint grin spread over her lips as the magic began to ripple through her body. She let out a tiny breath of delighted laughter. It was easy with Regina standing opposite; everything was easier with Regina, even the hardships they had yet to face. If magic was indeed related to intent, then Emma knew that the love and confidence the other woman instilled was the greater part of it; the only part that really mattered.

"Look at that," Emma said in a wondrous tone. "I'm really doing it."

"Yes," Regina nodded. "Yes, you are." She sucked air into her lungs, tried to steady herself, then let it out again in a slow, steady stream before summoning up the magic that lived inside her. It spread out across her skin, bringing with it such a sense of utter completeness that she felt like crying, laughing, shouting with the sheer joy of release.

It emerged from her fingertips in a fine thread of purple, wreathing around the ball of energy, making it grow, making it swell with shades of lavender, lightening to pink as their magic slid together, fitting so perfectly that both women sighed aloud at the sensation.

"Oh god…" Emma moaned, as Regina's magic began to flow through her, as their energies moved together, the ball of energy shimmering like a lake's surface under sunlight. "That's…"

"It is," Regina sighed in a deep, guttural tone, looking at Emma and giving herself over to the unlimited power of the blonde. "It really is."

She remembered the first time she'd used magic; how it had been borne from all the rage she'd never allowed herself to feel. How she'd punished her mother for the years spent being forced to Cora's will, how Rumpelstiltskin had encouraged and coaxed her into letting anger guide her hand and the magic she had within her.

After that, her power had been carved in deep lines of hate across her soul, slicing through what was her perceived notion of goodness, abandoning hope and throwing itself towards vengeance instead. Regina had always relied on it, used it, nurtured it like the child she'd never had. Because power seized was freedom, the only kind she'd ever really known.

But as she and Emma moved towards each other, reducing the gap between them, Regina knew it was different this time: this was true freedom. If true love could break any curse, then Emma's magic was formed of that – it was her truest essence, the fabric of her very being. And it was love that Regina felt shivering its way over her skin and sinking deep into every pore of her body; a love that had saved her and always would.

The energy between them grew, broadening so that it enveloped them both in a bright, shining cloak that wrapped itself around them, rising far above their heads towards the vaulted ceiling of the room. By the time their hands touched, magic was everywhere, glistening and dancing in the very atoms of the air.

"Beautiful," Emma said, her fingers sliding over Regina's.

"It's magic," Regina told her, smiling.

"No, not the magic," Emma shook her head, letting go of Regina's hands and putting her arms around the other woman's waist, tugging at her so their bodies were flush against each other. "You. **You're** beautiful. This is…it's beautiful."

She'd always known that Regina was strong – much stronger than any of them really knew. Even in Storybrooke, during the days when she was ignorant of Regina's true identity and the lurid past that stretched behind her like a black shadow, Emma had recognized something in the other woman that unsettled her. Dark magic, it seemed, had left imprints on Regina, on her heart and soul, grasping it with a sticky touch. And even as they'd fallen in love, Emma now understood that it was a darker power that had held the other woman in its grasp.

But this feeling, this sensation whipping around them and making them glow was something else. Emma knew it as surely as she knew that Regina was something else – someone else. Tiny flecks of magic darted around their heads like a thousand fireflies, sparkling and reflecting all that was in them and all that they were. If there was darkness in it, then Emma couldn't feel it; she could only feel Regina's body against her own, the quickened breathing of the other woman and the incandescent beauty that shone in brown eyes gazing at her in wonder and joy.

There was a sense of innocence about it all, a newness that spoke of who Regina must have been before all of this; before she lost Daniel, before she endured a loveless marriage, before she threw herself into the bottomless abyss of pain and anger that had been the only things she had left. If magic came from the soul itself, then Emma couldn't help thinking that, beneath the fears and layers of hard protection that Regina sought to hide behind was this: an exhilaration of magic, something pure, something good.

"Does it always feel this way?" she asked, swaying under the waves of magic around them, within them.

"I don't know," Regina said, then laughed as Emma turned an enquiring eye upon her. "I've never felt like this before," she added.

They clung to one another as the magic swirled around them, circling them in much the same way they had each other at the start of all this: intense and wary and terrified of what all the preceding broken years had made of them. But this was release: gratification and openness and synchronicity.

Emma and Regina had burned for one another.

But now, they shone.

Regina's fingers sank into Emma's hair, fisting handfuls of it as she leaned in, kissing the blonde. Lips tingled as they met, and Regina knew she'd never be fully sated by this, that her hunger for the other woman was as limitless and huge as the magic she possessed. Moaning, she deepened the kiss, the tip of her tongue running just beneath Emma's upper lip, savoring whatever this was between them, tasting it and knowing that magic wasn't just contained in the spells she'd memorized and learned.

As they parted, Emma muttered something unintelligible, gaze hooded. There was no semblance of control now, only the rush towards a different kind of power that spun around them in ever decreasing circles. Her fingers plucked at Regina's clothing, tearing it from the other woman in a hasty flurry of fingers and sounds of impatient frustration.

"Emma…dear…" Regina gasped as Emma's mouth attached itself to her neck, the cotton shirt she was wearing already off one shoulder. "Perhaps we should wait – "

"No waiting," Emma growled, as the air above their heads shimmered and turned a fiery gold for a blistering minute. She gripped Regina's upper arms and propelled the other woman back towards the bed. Shoving her back onto it, Emma's hands turned to her own clothes and she fumbled with the fastening on her breeches. "We've both waited long enough, Regina. I know you want this. I've always known."

"I just want you," Regina said, as the magic unfurled over their heads, dampening everything except what remained between them.

"Then take off your clothes," Emma demanded. "Now."

Ripping at her shirt and breeches, Emma cursed loudly, almost losing her balance as she lurched onto the bed, kicking off her boots. By the time she clambered over Regina, the other woman was half naked, leather jerkin, shirt and pants falling over the side of the bed as skin brushed against skin, limbs curling around limbs, hips bumping and touching.

The broad strokes of Emma's hands on Regina's body were followed by silvery patches that gleamed with residual magic. It seemed to chase every caress, every movement of fingertips on flesh that curved and dipped beneath them. Regina arched towards it as Emma leaned over her, rising from the bed as the blonde traced a line down the center of her body, moving between her breasts and down towards the tiny swell of her belly.

It was excruciating, Regina thought; pain and pleasure rolled into a cacophony of sensation and feeling that burst into her mind and senses, sharpening them to much that she could hardly bear to be touched at all. But she wanted it. Oh, how she wanted this – _Emma_ – the magic and power and glorious salvation that it offered.

Need made her bold; hunger made her strong. She could never go back to the girl she was; history was as dead and buried as the love she'd left behind in this world. Magic had changed her, shaped her, molded her pain into a weapon of destruction. But now it was making her whole again, invincible and powerful in ways she'd never even known existed before.

Regina grasped Emma's wrists, rolling the other woman over and rising up over her, straddling the blonde. She pressed Emma's arms up over her head and down onto the pillow. The Evil Queen was gone. Regina Mills was gone. But the passion both of those women had clung to was evident in the glittering gaze that roamed over Emma's features; found in the way Regina thrust down onto the hips that canted up to meet her own.

"There you are," Emma said, voice thickened by desire and recognition. "I've missed you."

"I'm here," Regina responded. It echoed like a warning in Emma's ears, magic yawning around them, casting a sparkling horizon across the room. Emma wondered if she should be afraid of it, of the intensity and the way it made her want much more than she ever had reason to long for. But as Regina's mouth descended onto her skin, lips pinching their way down over her breasts, Emma found that she couldn't bring herself to care.

Snow was pacing behind the chair where her husband sat, deep in contemplation. She'd been agitated for hours, going over the emissary's visit in her mind and wondering if resolution was as far away as the life they'd left behind in Storybrooke. Wringing her hands together, she let out a frustrated sigh and shook her head as Charming turned to look at her.

"We'll work this out," he said, but his voice was far more confident than he felt. He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling tension tightening beneath the skin.

"With a battle to the death?" Snow stopped pacing and threw up her hands. "This isn't how I thought it would be, you know, coming back here."

"I know," Charming soothed, reaching for her arm and pulling her towards him. "But good always wins, dearest. It's the way of this world."

"It **used** to be," Snow leaned against him for a moment, face downcast. "But I have to wonder if our happy ending exists anymore. What if we had it and lost it? What if we left it behind in Storybrooke?"

Charming's head jerked back on his neck and he looked up at his wife with appalled surprise. "Snow," he said quietly, "how can you even **think** that? That place was…not our home."

"It was our home for longer than it wasn't," she told him.

"We were cursed!" Charming objected. "We didn't know who we were or…or that we even existed outside of a book of fairytales."

"But we found one another anyway." Snow put her palm against his cheek with a tiny smile. "Who's to say we couldn't have been happy there? No wars, no kingdom – "

"No birthright, no nobility, no responsibility," Charming added, as his wife drew back and folded her arms over her chest, a resolute acceptance dawning over her features.

"Snow, this is what you were born to do," he continued, as she turned away from him. "This is your destiny, your fate."

"Is it?" she whirled around, her face contorted into troubled lines of doubt. "All I wanted – all I **ever** wanted to was to marry you, have our child and live happily ever after. I don't want this," she sighed, gesturing around the War Room.

"Nobody wants war, Snow," Charming told her. "And we'll do everything we can to avoid it, but if we can't – if George won't back down – then we need to gather our forces to defend our land. To defend what we worked so hard to gain."

"We didn't **work** for this!" Snow said bitterly. "It was handed down to me and put upon my shoulders whether I wanted it or not."

"Be that as it may, we'll fight to protect it anyway," Charming said firmly. He straightened in his chair and looked at his wife, sympathy coloring his gaze. "Whatever we might have been or not been in Storybrooke, we can't go back there. This is what we have now. This is **all** we have now."

It wasn't the answer Snow was looking for, and her head dropped to her chest as it all rushed in to overwhelm her. When they'd first returned here, she'd been thrilled at the thought that everything was as it should be; their lives restored and returned. But it was fast becoming a world she simply didn't recognize anymore, and she wasn't the same either. Because like it or not, almost three decades spent elsewhere still lingered in her memory and, she had to admit, in the deepest recesses of her heart, too.

Living a fairytale had once been all she'd ever known. But what happened after the fairytale ended? Because this world, once so familiar, was filled with a regretful newness that Snow wasn't entirely sure she liked.

The doors at the end of the War Room burst open and Leroy entered, followed by a figure in a long gown that swept the floor as she walked towards the round table. Charming got to his feet, taking Snow's hand in his own and moving around the table to greet their guest.

"Abigail," he smiled, "it's good to see you."

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "I'm still getting used to being called that," she admitted with a tiny frown of confusion.

"We're all still getting used to a lot of things," Snow said as warmly as she could, but she remained behind Charming, casting a somewhat rueful glance over the woman who had been David Nolan's wife. Some things about Storybrooke, she thought, were less easily left behind, no matter how hard she tried to immerse herself in their new, remembered life.

"And soon it appears we'll have to get used to war," Abigail remarked, sitting in the chair that Charming pulled out for her. She leaned forwards, resting her arms on the table as her counterparts returned to their own seats and sighed heavily. "When word reached me that King George was planning on taking back this realm, of course I set out immediately to consult with you."

"His emissary informed us that he has allies," Charming said. "Who would ally themselves with him against us?"

Abigail pursed her lips, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair. "I don't know, but I hear that he's employed some dark forces to muster an army."

"Dark forces?" Snow frowned. "But we vanquished evil – at least, the evil that existed here before."

"I can't be sure," Abigail looked at her and shrugged a little, "but all the people taken from this land under the curse have been returned to their former selves. And that includes those who were…transformed."

"Like?" Charming leaned forwards in his seat, one hand splaying out on the wooden table.

"Trolls," Abigail told him. "Ogres. Those who weren't included in our society when we lived here before."

"Trolls and ogres don't align themselves with royalty!" Snow looked between Charming and Abigail, open-mouthed in horror. "They weren't part of our society because they didn't **want** to be! That wasn't how this world worked."

"Apparently, things have changed," Abigail said dryly. "Whatever else it did to us, the curse afforded them a life that they'd never have experienced here. In Storybrooke, they lived among us, as people."

She sighed heavily. "I can't help thinking that coming back here has engendered some…resentment." Her gaze met Charming's across the table and he nodded slowly at her. He understood; she knew that more than anyone. Her marriage to David Nolan might have been a fallacy, but she still knew _him_ – or felt as though she did. And on his face she could see that he struggled with it too, with returning to a life that no longer presented the happy endings of stories.

"If that's true," he finally commented, "then we're going to need our own allies if we are indeed going to war."

Abigail clasped her hands together on top of the table, lifting her chin and looking for all the world like the princess she used to be and was again. "My father's army is at your disposal," she told Snow and Charming, feeling rather than seeing the palpable relief they felt.

"Thank you, Abigail," Charming mustered up a smile as Snow's hand grasped at his own.

"Well," Abigail's eyebrows rose and she allowed herself a tiny smirk of satisfaction, "it's the least I can do for my husband that never was, isn't it?"

She saw Snow bristle slightly out of the corner of her eye and confusion, her ever-present companion, rushed into her chest. Because she had loved David until she realized that his heart wasn't hers to keep, but the man sitting across the table from her wasn't David Nolan anymore. Not entirely, anyway. At the back of her mind, Abigail remembered the brave prince who had risked his own life to bring her true love, and she thought of Frederick, how they had found one another again and were as happy as this land would permit them to be.

"I haven't forgotten the favor your husband did for me," she directed towards Snow with a graceful incline of her head. "His courage deserves recompense. If that comes in the form of Midas' army, then so be it. If you need to fight, you won't be doing it alone."

Snow looked carefully at her, searching for insincerity and finding none. A slow, warm smile spread over her lips as she and Abigail appraised one another and reached something of a détente.

"Thank you," she said quietly, as Charming squeezed her hand. "For choosing the side of good."

"I'm rather afraid good and evil aren't as easily defined as they used to be," Abigail said in a rueful tone.

"And there are no guarantees that good will always win," Charming added, shoulders slumping. "Not anymore."

"Which brings me to something I wished to discuss with you," Abigail said, glancing over her shoulder towards the heavy doors to the War Room. Leroy had left; they were alone now, and as she turned back towards Snow and Charming, she frowned pensively. "If King George is employing any forces he can in order to wage war, then perhaps we should too."

"What do you mean?" Snow asked tentatively, knowing that whatever Abigail had in mind, she probably wasn't going to like it. The delineation of what she'd held most dear in this world – her faith in good and repudiation of evil – had shaken her. Nothing held true anymore. And if the old ways were no longer feasible, then what new horrors might this war bring?

"News travels almost as fast in this land as gossip used to in Storybrooke," Abigail told them with a wry smile. "Your daughter…Emma; she has magic. Powerful magic, from what I can ascertain."

"Oh," Snow's mouth formed a perfect _o_ before she shook her head and glanced at Charming, worried. "No – Emma is still learning. Her magic is strong but it's…it's not nearly controlled enough to – "

"But she's learning from someone who **can** control magic," Abigail cut her off. "Someone that we all know had great power in this land."

"**Regina**?" Charming gaped at her before clamping his lips tight shut and shaking his head firmly from side to side. "Absolutely not."

"You want to ask the Evil Queen to help fight a war? For **us**?" Snow was appalled, sickened at the very thought of placing her trust in a woman who served only to fill her heart with suspicion and not a little dread. After all they'd been to one another, all they'd done to cause pain, she couldn't imagine Regina wanting to offer them any aid whatsoever. Not even a Regina who was in love with her daughter.

"Why not?" Abigail shrugged, as though it was the most natural and logical suggestion in the world. And, she reasoned to herself, perhaps it was, in _this_ world, anyway.

"Do you honestly think she'll help us, after everything that happened here? After everything she did to thwart and destroy us?" Snow was panicking now, her head bobbing up and down, her speech increasing in speed.

"You remember what happened in Storybrooke, don't you? All of it. Who we were, what we did. Those memories haven't gone away for us, and they haven't for Regina, either. Your daughter might be The Savior, but she's still the woman Regina fell in love with. The woman who took the Evil Queen's heart."

"That doesn't mean she's changed," Charming blurted. "If she starts using magic again then who's to say she won't become exactly like she was before." He curled one hand into a fist, bumping it against the table's surface.

"And who's to say she **will**?" Abigail let out a surprised laugh. "I'm amazed at you, Charming." She emphasized his name with a deliberate tone, fixing him with a hard gaze.

"You and Snow always used to believe in true love," she said in a slightly softer voice. "What happened to your faith in the power it can wield?"

"Storybrooke happened," Snow said sadly. "The curse happened. And things are…things are different now. It's hard to come back here and just expect things to be as simple as they once were."

"I knew Regina in Storybrooke," Abigail told them, her features working around memories of a life that she knew wasn't real, even if the sentiments that had been contained within it were. "And I believe that there's good in her, still. She was my friend. And I – I was hers."

"Regina doesn't **have** friends," Snow blurted unkindly.

"And perhaps that's been the problem all along," Abigail darted back, just as forcefully.

"So you're going to forgive her, just like that?"

"What I choose to forgive or not forgive, your Highness, is my business," Abigail was hard, protective of a friendship that had meant something to her. She wasn't ready for it to mean nothing. Not yet.

Charming held up his hand before this descended into a full scale argument; bickering wasn't going to get them anywhere. But he wasn't so sure the idea of Regina being their ally would get them any further. He thought of his dreams, of the dangers of leading Emma into battle, of how he'd seen Regina in his nightmares and how she might once more seek to take power for herself and rule over them all.

"Even if she **has** changed and even if she **does** want to help us, I'm not happy about her accessing her powers again. Magic is…it's unpredictable. Emma's shown us that."

"It's also something upon which we may need to rely, should this war be unavoidable," Abigail told him. She sat back in her chair, clinging to her sense of diplomacy and the understanding she'd reached that royalty, while afforded the luxury of ruling kingdoms, didn't quite have the same grasp on justice that it once had. And she knew that should war come to pass, then old enemies may necessarily become new allies.

Change was difficult; it always had been in this land. Tradition, however, had to take second place to preservation and survival. It simply had to, or they might just all be doomed before the first sword had been drawn on the battlefield.

She surveyed Snow and Charming, their faces wrought in lines of confusion and doubt. "Look," she said slowly, all her regal poise disappearing as she appeared more like Kathryn Nolan and less like the princess who had traveled from Midas' land with talk of war and battles to be fought, "we are where we are, for better or worse. You're either going to start trusting Regina or you're not. And considering she's more a part of your family now than she's ever been, don't you think it's high time you at least gave it some thought?"

Snow turned to her husband, exchanging a look with him that spoke volumes, despite the trepidation grumbling in her gut. He returned it with the same amount of worried displeasure and let out a long, grated sigh.

"We'll think about it." He looked at Abigail and realized that out of the two of them, she'd always been smarter and more perceptive, whatever land they'd been living in. So as she nodded in reply, he pressed his lips together in a tiny smile of acquiescence and reached for Snow's hand again. "That's all we can do today."

Henry shoved the remaining forkful of food into his already half-full mouth and chewed heartily, cheeks bulging with the sort of childish greed that reminded Emma of herself as a kid. She grinned across the table at him, ignoring Regina's slightly raised eyebrows of disapproval and catching his eye, proffering an overly exaggerated wink and making him giggle.

"So…I guess the food was a success?" Ruby asked, rather delighted with herself. She'd experimented with ingredients since coming back here and, although she could never quite make the same dishes they used to at the diner, what she _had_ come up with was a good enough substitute.

"Fabulous," Emma groaned, patting her stomach and leaning back in her chair, stretching her legs out under the table.

They'd gathered for dinner in the Great Hall of the castle, although they ended up crowding around one end of the long table, preferring proximity over tradition. Ruby had spent the afternoon cooking with Henry, the best kind of normalcy she knew how to offer to the kid. They'd proudly presented the fruits of their labor and even Regina had to admit that it was a more pleasant surprise than something even she might be able to conjure up.

But ever since she and Emma had sat down at the table, Ruby's gaze had flickered between them, brows drawing close in what looked like suspicion. It was unsettling, Regina thought. Like Ruby wanted to say something, but didn't even know where to start.

Not that she wasn't used to that sort of thing: in Storybrooke, she'd become accustomed to the furtive glances and whispered epithets of reprove directed towards her. At first, she'd taken delight in the way people scurried out of her way when she stalked down Main Street, congratulating herself on a battle won, a victory claimed.

But it wasn't long before it became nothing more than a lonely, friendless existence. And it would be the same now but for Henry and Emma; of that, Regina was certain.

"Hey," Emma jerked her chin towards Ruby, "I don't suppose you'd consider coming and living here with us, would you? I could eat like this every night."

Ruby let out a trickle of laughter and rolled her eyes. "Twenty eight years of being a waitress and you want to curse me into the same thing back here? No thanks, Emma."

She felt rather than saw Regina stiffen to her right and silently admonished herself for her poor choice of words. There was no love lost between her and the queen but even Ruby sensed the flush of regret that colored Regina's cheeks, and she shifted in her chair, looking down at her lap.

"Not that it was…uh…**that** bad," she said, her voice a little too high-pitched to be anything but a desperate attempt to redeem herself. "I mean, you know, we had cable," she shrugged, cocking her head onto one side.

"I miss TV," Henry sighed, his mouth finally empty. "I want to crash on the couch and watch something pointless."

"Really, dear," Regina spoke for the first time, avoiding Ruby's fearful gaze and smiling somewhat condescendingly at her son. "All television is pointless. And very unfair," she added with a disdainful sniff.

Emma stifled a chuckle with difficulty and leaned over to where Henry sat. "Fairytales," she whispered loudly. "Your mom thinks they're all nonsense."

He grinned back at her before looking across the table to where Regina sat, stiff-backed and distinctly unimpressed, glaring daggers at Emma.

"They don't tell the real story, that's for sure," Henry said, and was relieved to see the way Regina softened, gazing at him with affection in her eyes. "I figured out that the people who win are always the ones who tell the stories. Nobody's interested in the people who lose."

"Good job **we're** not losing anything then, isn't it, kid?" Emma cocked her head, glancing at Regina, appeased by the faint smile on the other woman's lips.

"Yes, well," Regina hummed to herself. "We're certainly not going to lose any weight, given what we've just eaten." She turned to Ruby with as much grace as she could muster and inclined her head a little.

"It was delicious, Ruby," she said. "Thank you for cooking, and for looking after Henry this afternoon."

"You're…" Ruby faltered, alarmed by what looked like genuine sentiment on Regina's face. "You're uh, welcome?"

Regina nodded. "Now, dear, I'm sure you didn't come all this way to show off your culinary skills. Why are you here?"

"Regina…" Emma warned from across the table.

"I wanted to see – I missed Henry. And Emma." Ruby lifted her chin and held Regina's gaze for a long moment before the other woman gave a tiny, knowing laugh and looked away.

"We missed you too!" Henry beamed, but Ruby offered him little more than a cursory glance, her eyes roaming Regina's thoughtful expression and the way she fiddled with her empty plate, lips twitching before she finally looked back at the girl.

"Did Snow send you?" Regina asked. She could tell from the way Ruby flushed crimson and looked down at her lap again that she was right. And while she didn't really blame Snow for being suspicious of her, Regina couldn't help feeling slighted anyway. Retribution came in many forms, but it seemed that no matter how accepting Regina was of her need to offer it, Snow still didn't believe that it was genuine. She thought of Snow; how she'd wanted Regina to prove herself. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to see just how that might happen, whether she'd even be given the opportunity to do so.

"**Did** she?" Emma leaned over the table towards Ruby, brows knitting together, suddenly interested in the turn the conversation had taken. "Is that true?"

"She didn't…**not** send me," Ruby said in a small voice, screwing up her features. This wasn't exactly the stealthy mission of information gathering she'd imagined it might be. She looked between the two women at the table, eventually sighing and throwing up her hands.

"She's worried about you," she said to Emma. "I mean, worried about **all** of you."

Regina snorted. "I find that hard to believe."

"No, she is," Ruby insisted, shrinking a little under the ferocity of Regina's glower. "She doesn't want you dead, Regina. But you have to admit, the idea of you changing and not being the – the uh – "

"The Evil Queen?" Regina suggested, with a wave of her hand that was far too reminiscent of the woman she used to be for Ruby to do anything but shiver a little in response. And that was when she knew what had been bothering her since they started eating: it was magic. She could sense it. Feel it. Hell, she could almost _smell_ it, weaving in and out of a much more potent scent that, she glanced at Henry, she _certainly_ wasn't going to expound on now.

"It's going to take some getting used to, that's all," Ruby said with a firm nod of her head.

"Well you just let me know when you've all made up your minds," Regina intoned in a lazy drawl that belied the sinking of her heart. "Unless Snow has decided that you're to be our guard dog on a more regular basis."

"Regina!" Emma retorted, before Ruby, bristling and offended, decided to let her wolf out to play. "Enough, okay?"

The two women exchanged meaningful looks before Regina drew in a breath and shrugged, her eyes hooded as she relented and pushed at her plate again.

"You can tell my **mother**," Emma said the word with some difficulty, "that she doesn't need to worry. Snow White and Prince Charming might have returned to Fairy Tale Land, but the Evil Queen hasn't."

"She's good now!" Henry chirped up, and the smile that crossed Regina's lips almost dispelled the nagging sadness in her heart, because as long as _he_ believed it, and Emma had faith in her, she felt as though she might truly be good. Be _better_.

"In fact," Emma stated grandly, "she's been teaching me how to use my magic for good." A smirk tugged at her mouth as she looked across the table at Regina. "For **very** good, actually," she added.

"Henry," Regina cleared her throat, wrenching her gaze from Emma's and busying herself with a couple of plates on the table. "Help me clear things away."

"Don't we have, you know, people for that?" he asked, squinting at her as she moved around the table, gathering empty dishes into her hands.

"We may not still be in Storybrooke, dear," Regina said smartly as she dumped a pile of plates in front of the boy, "but that's no reason to ignore everything you learned there, including your manners."

As he grumbled to himself and rose reluctantly from his seat, Regina turned to Ruby and pasted a polite smile on her lips.

"Whatever the intention behind your visit to us, thank you for cooking tonight, Miss Lucas."

"Uh…my pleasure," Ruby answered, eyes widening as she watched Regina leave the room, Henry scampering on her heels. She turned back to Emma, who proudly lifted her wine goblet in a mock salute before taking a deep swig, smacking her lips as she swallowed. For the first time in what seemed like forever, it felt good to be The Savior.

"I love it when she does that whole _mom_ thing," she remarked, her gaze drifting towards the door where Regina had exited. "She's really got this parenting thing down, which is probably just as well," she added with a mirthless grunt of laughter.

"Henry's happy though, isn't he?" Ruby frowned, remembering the boy's consternation of the afternoon.

"Sure," Emma shrugged. "Once he gets over missing TV," she grinned.

"But…I mean, things are okay here. With you and – and Regina."

"Things are _fine_," Emma said, her voice a little harder. "In fact," she smirked, remembering the afternoon she'd spent in bed with Regina, casting magic and light around the room, "things probably couldn't be better."

"Is she really teaching you magic?" Ruby narrowed her eyes and gazed at Emma, who had the presence of mind to at least blush a little as their eyes met.

"Yeah, of course she is, why do you ask?"

"Part wolf," Ruby pointed towards her chest. "Improved sense of smell."

"I'm…not with you," Emma shrugged and frowned, nonplussed.

"Let's just say that, whatever it was you two were doing this afternoon," Ruby said slowly, directing a pointed stare towards the blonde and rather enjoying watching her squirm. "It might have been magic, but I don't think it had much to do with spells."


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11

Emma whooped loudly and pumped her fist in the air, turning to Regina and holding out her hands in victory as she swaggered around in front of the other woman's somewhat piqued gaze.

"Beat **that**!" she said proudly, jerking her thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the makeshift target they'd erected in the forest. It was little more than a circle of wood attached to the broad trunk of a tree, but it served well for magic practice, and was smoking thinly from its center where Emma had directed a well-aimed bolt of fiery magic towards it.

Regina watched as Emma threw herself onto the blanket they'd laid out beneath a shady tree, reaching for a leather flask and swigging some water. This little enclosure, deep in the Enchanted Forest, was a more prudent choice for using magic than close to the castle, particularly as Regina didn't want Henry seeing her use her powers. She'd promised him that she wouldn't – she'd promised _everyone_, in fact. But Emma's powers of persuasion were contained in a seductive swell that rose in her chest, convincing her that something that felt this right couldn't possibly be wrong, could it? Not anymore. And what Emma had said about their use of magic together rang true: Regina _did_ feel connected to The Savior in a way that she was sure nobody else could.

Magic came in many forms. And what she had with Emma was surely one of the best ways. How could it be anything else, when it brought them so close together and formed a bond that very few others could possibly understand?

"You're so childishly competitive," Regina murmured, casting a glance at Emma, sprawled out on the blanket and grinning at her with the sort of self-satisfaction that had always sent her into a blind rage when she was Mayor of Storybrooke.

"Says the woman who had me arrested on like, my second day in Storybrooke to prove a point," Emma remarked sardonically.

"It worked," Regina shrugged off the barb and fixed Emma with a somewhat haughty glare. "Besides, you took a chainsaw to my apple tree."

"Right," Emma said, frowning. "I'm sorry about that."

She propped herself up on her elbows and a sly grin spread across her mouth as she remembered how they'd fought, what it all meant, what it had led to. "Actually," she commented, "I'm really **not**. You deserved it."

At Regina's imperious expression, Emma couldn't resist the gurgle of laughter that bubbled up her throat and cocked her head onto one side.

"God," she sighed, "I thought you were going to eat me alive."

"And I thought you were going to remove my head with that chainsaw," Regina returned dryly.

"Nah," Emma said dismissively, the corners of her mouth turning down. "I mean, it did cross my mind but I figured that pissing you off was **way** more fun instead."

"Hm," Regina huffed, but there was a recognition in her gaze that were it not for Emma's character and the traits that had initially put them at loggerheads, then none of this would have happened. She never would have been challenged to love again; never would have had her heart tested in such exacting ways, never would have found peace and comfort unlike anything else she'd ever experienced.

"I'm pissing you off right now, aren't I?" Emma ventured, and smirked at the look of indignant confirmation that crossed Regina's features. "Yeah," she said to herself, "I've still got it."

"I hardly think possessing such an obtuse nature is something to be proud of," Regina admonished, like she was criticizing Henry for leaving his room untidy. But then, Emma often reminded her of a teenage boy, and in as much as it was endearing, Regina also found it to be highly irritable, and not at all befitting someone of royal lineage. Emma's character may have been suited to the somewhat dissolute life she'd led back in the other world, but here, she was the exception to the rule.

It occurred to Regina that perhaps _that_ was one of the reasons she loved her so much. She felt less alone knowing that she wasn't the only person who didn't quite fit in now they were back in Fairy Tale Land.

"Obtuse?" Emma grimaced, looking across the clearing at the other woman, eyebrows rising. "Before I came to Storybrooke, was there anyone – anyone at **all **that stood up to you?"

She eyed Regina carefully, noticing how it wasn't pride that colored the other woman's features, but rather a weary sense of acceptance that happy endings weren't grasped or stolen; that Storybrooke had been a disappointment because it never really quite gave Regina what she needed. Certainly not what she truly _wanted_, anyway.

"No," Regina shook her head and smiled sadly. "Not a single one of them."

She'd never spoken about what it felt like, having two worlds existing inside her head. At first, the newness of everything had overwhelmed her and she'd imagined that winning – cursing an entire realm to live under her control – had brought her happiness at last. But as time passed, she'd come to realize that nobody could curse people into caring for her. Not even a sorceress as powerful as she had been. And affection wasn't created; it had to happen naturally, earned and deserved by acts of kindness or a heart that truly craved it.

Moving across the clearing, Regina sat down on the blanket beside Emma, tilting her head back to gaze up at the sky. There were no storms today, which had prompted their sojourn into the woods, but Regina could feel that clouds were gathering somewhere, the sensation prickling at the back of her neck. She didn't like it. Not one bit.

"They won't ever forgive me, you know," she said quietly, head dropping onto her chest as she picked absently at the leather cords on her waistcoat.

"You don't know that," Emma said, lying back and placing a hand onto Regina's knee.

"I think I do," Regina told her, placing her hand over Emma's. Her fingers tingled with the residue of magic still in the blonde's touch and she shivered despite the sun shining above them. "They'll pretend they do for your sake, or for Henry's, but these people…I took them away from their lives and forced them to live in ignorance, not happiness."

"Oh yeah," Emma grunted. "Because their lives here were **so** fulfilling."

She turned her head and looked at Regina, their eyes meeting in sympathy and regret. "I know we joke about stuff we miss from back – back **there**, but I see how people live here, Regina. Do you **honestly** think anyone missed having to hunt for food, or making fires just to keep warm at night, or getting water from the river instead of just turning on a faucet?"

"Those material things are irrelevant," Regina said grimly, shaking her head. "There's magic here, a way of life that you couldn't possibly conceive of."

"There's also a massive amount of privilege that a few people have, while others have nothing at all," Emma retorted, lip curling in disdain.

"But for those twenty eight years in Storybrooke before the curse was broken, how was it any different?" Regina asked. "I designed a life for these people that had very little choice in it, and I ruled over them all in the same way that the monarchs of this land did."

"They didn't know it, though," Emma protested gently. "And sometimes…sometimes thinking that you're free or that you matter or that you have control over your life is almost as good as the real thing."

She let out a long sigh, closing her eyes for a minute and trying not to think about all the times when freedom had been contained in how fast she could avoid a strict hand, or run away from the system that had sought to imprison her. Even when she'd been in jail, Emma had consoled herself with the temporary nature of it, how liberation was fleeting and how she'd grasp it with both hands and never let go of her independence once she was set free.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you."

Emma opened her eyes and looked up at Regina, peering down at her with a furrowed brow and a look of pained apology on her face.

"I know," she said simply, squeezing at Regina's fingers.

"Growing up without parents is a terrible thing to have to endure."

"Listen," Emma struggled up onto one arm and nudged Regina's leg with her hand. "You grew up **with** parents and bad shit still happened. Just because you're raised by the people who gave birth to you doesn't mean it's all hugs and puppies."

As Regina's frown deepened, Emma shoved a hand through her hair and sighed. "You know why I gave Henry up? Because I wasn't going to be a good mother to him. I was a kid, Regina. I was in no fit state to be a parent – not the kind of parent he needed, anyway."

"And I **was**?" It came out in a blurt of self-knowledge that Emma knew hadn't been discovered easily.

"You did the best you could – you still do," Emma said warmly, and was met with a faint smile for her pains. "The way I see it, Henry was a gift because he taught you that you could still care about someone other than yourself. That's not a bad thing, Regina."

"Besides," Emma continued with a little shrug, lying back down onto the blanket again and staring up at the canopy of trees overhead, "I wouldn't have been **me** if I'd been raised here. I'd have been some over-privileged, bratty princess who had to wear stupid dresses and go to balls all the time."

A snort of laughter came from above her head. "I think perhaps you've watched one too many cartoons, dear. The way your world interpreted ours falls very short of the mark."

"Yeah, well," Emma sighed, "when I was a kid, fairytales seemed like the sort of charmed life anyone would want to lead. I mean, everyone wants to think they're special, don't they? That they're a princess, or a hero, or that they have superpowers or…just **anything** that makes them more than what they really are."

"You were lonely, weren't you?" Regina said quietly, and knew from the way Emma's brow furrowed that she was right. It hurt her, in a way, that she understood so keenly how that loneliness felt; that her own experience of wanting to be more than what life had handed her was so steeped in isolation and the desperate desire to simply be wanted. A pair of green eyes turned to look up at her and she reached out, brushing some strands of hair back from Emma's cheek.

"I spent most of my life wondering what was so bad about me that my own parents didn't want me, you know?" Emma whispered, her lips twitching over the truths that had haunted her for so many years. "And the foster system didn't do anything to help me figure that out. Every time I thought I'd found somewhere safe, they gave me back. So I guess I just ended up thinking that nobody really…that nobody could possibly want me because I **wasn't** special and I **wasn't** a princess and I wasn't **anything** that someone could love."

"You're The Savior, Emma," Regina said, shaking her head. "This entire realm loves you."

"No, they love **what** I am," Emma grunted disconsolately. "Not **who** I am."

"I loved you before you were The Savior," Regina persisted. "Against all reason," she added with a tiny roll of her eyes.

Emma glanced up at her, the corner of her mouth quirking into a tiny smile. "If I didn't have magic…I mean, if I wasn't The Savior and none of this existed," she threw out a hand and gestured around the clearing, "would you still feel the same way?"

It was ironic, Regina thought, that a life without all of this was where she'd learned to love. Where she'd had nothing but time and endless days stretching ahead of her to compound her loneliness and the heartbroken woman she'd become. She'd once thought that living in Storybrooke – in a land without magic – was condemnation.

But lately, she'd come to think of it as true freedom, where she'd cast off the mantle of Evil Queen and adopted a newer one of mother, friend, lover.

"If you were just the Sheriff, and if I was just the Mayor," Regina said thoughtfully, "I can imagine it being…"

She broke off as Emma peered up at her, curiosity in her eyes. Then, smiling, Regina shrugged. It wasn't the happy ending she'd envisaged, but it was a happy ending, nonetheless.

"It would have been enough," she said softly. "You…you would have been enough."

"Pity we never really got the chance to – " Emma began, then stopped, clamping her lips together. Sitting up, she tugged at her jacket and ran fingers through her hair, attempting to straighten the tousled curls.

"Never mind," she said bluntly. "Life's too short for regrets, right?"

"When you've lived as long as I have," Regina remarked, "regrets are really all you have."

"Good job I've got a thing for bitter old ladies then, I guess," Emma said wryly, ignoring the look of offense that crossed Regina's face, leaping to her feet and extending an arm down towards the other woman. "Come on, let's make some magic," she grinned, pulling Regina to her feet and leading her across the clearing.

Letting go of Regina's hand, Emma flexed her fingers and squinted across the grass towards the target. It was getting easier with the magic now, to summon it and bend it to her will. With Regina by her side, guiding her and giving her confidence, there were times when Emma thought she could do anything – _be_ anything. So as the power flooded down her arms towards her fingertips, she smiled and cocked an inquisitive look at Regina.

"What was it like?" she asked. "Being the Evil Queen. Having all this magic."

Regina closed her eyes and breathed in the power that shimmered around Emma and wrapped itself around her senses. "It was…transformative," she answered.

Emma reached out and touched her hand, fingertips tracing silvery lines over veins and knuckles.

"Kind of like falling in love," she murmured, drinking in how this felt, this bond they had that transcended familial ties, responsibility, everything but the intimacy that existed between them.

Regina frowned and clasped her hands together. "The only difference being that, no matter how good it feels to give into the magic, it can't love you back. Giving yourself over to something that simply can't return your affections is…well, it's an exercise in futility, dear."

"But it made you feel better, at least for a little while, didn't it?"

The rush of power inside her chest swelled, buzzing and tingling through every blood vessel and cell of her body. Regina breathed over it, remembering how her anger and desire for vengeance had only fueled the magic, made it thick and rich with rage, made it stronger than anything else. She turned to Emma, a sad smile playing over her lips.

"For a little while, yes it did."

And there it was: the truth that she'd been running from – that they _both_ had. For all her warnings about not surrendering to the magic, Regina knew that by allowing it to take hold of her, she'd found cold comfort in its dark recesses. A salve, at least, for a wound that had never healed and bled out, taking her life with it.

"So…target practice?" Emma said with a sheepish grin, lifting her hand and pointing towards the wooden board on the tree across the clearing.

"I thought we might try something else," Regina suggested. "Something a little less incendiary, perhaps?"

Emma shrugged and eyed the target with reluctance. "But the fire's kind of cool," she wheedled.

"So says the delinquent in you, I'm sure," Regina hummed with a wry smile. "Now, push me away."

"Push you…? " Emma lifted her hands, looking at them in alarm.

"Use your magic to push me away," Regina said, nodding.

Emma bit at her lower lip, concentrating as she thrust her hands out in front of her. When the magic hit, it was low, resonating in Regina's solar plexus, but fading to nothing almost immediately. Pressing a hand over her stomach, Regina glanced at Emma, seeing the blonde's eyes widen in an aggrieved expression.

"I'm sorry, I – "

"No, that's good," Regina breathed heavily. She swallowed, nodding her head towards Emma. "Again."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Regina straightened, throwing her shoulders back. A strange gleam entered her eyes, glittering with remnants of the woman she used to be in this land. Lifting her chin, she glared at Emma with pride and implicit challenge, the air around them acrid with heightened magical tension.

"Oh, believe me, dear," Regina said haughtily, "you won't."

The next rush of magic propelled her backwards and she bent over it, clutching at her stomach. But she looked up at Emma anyway with a smiling grimace on her face and had the temerity to laugh a little.

"Not bad," Regina said in a ragged voice. "But I know you're more powerful than that. I know you're stronger."

Irritation flared Emma's nostrils and she glowered at Regina. "This is stupid," she said sulkily. "If I let it all out, then I'll hurt you."

Regina's eyes narrowed and she lifted her hands, flicking her wrist and sending out a surge of magic that threw Emma back a few paces, almost knocking the blonde off her feet.

"Not possible," she smiled thinly, as Emma turned a startled, resentful gaze on her. "Defend yourself, Savior."

Another thrust of her hands, another blow to Emma's body, another thrill as magic sped to every part of her. Regina advanced upon Emma, watching closely as the blonde fought to gain her breath, dropping to one knee, arms outstretched.

"What kind of lesson is this?" Emma lifted her head, astonishment seeping the color from her cheeks. "Regina, what are you doing?"

"Teaching you," Regina said in a low tone. "The only way I know how, dear."

As her hands rose once more, Emma let out a grunt of annoyance and rose to her feet, thrusting out blindly with one hand. She felt the magic flow again, this time with more force than before and felt reluctant pleasure as she saw Regina reel back.

"Better," Regina said, gaining her balance and moving around the clearing, circling Emma as the blonde turned to face her. "Defensive magic can protect you, Emma. It can keep dangers at bay without hurting anyone, but you need to feel it. You need to want it."

"I don't want or need protection from **you**," Emma growled.

Regina laughed, harder and more brittle than Emma had ever heard it before. There was a sense of prescient danger in the clearing, something unusual. It resonated with tones of the woman Emma had risen up against in Storybrooke, the woman who had made threats and accusations and promises of untold power.

"You wanted to know what I know," Regina said, throwing another wall of magic at Emma and watching dispassionately as the blonde lost her footing and landed on the grass with a loud grunt of surprise. "You wanted to be able to do what I can. So fight back. Show me."

Scrambling to her feet, Emma saw the smile on Regina's mouth and hated it, hated the magic inside her and everything that it could change; everything that it already _had_. But even as she railed against it, she knew that _this_ Regina, this woman who challenged and instigated a knot of defiance inside her chest was the woman she'd fallen in love with. For all the hard edges that had been softened with love, what had transpired since returning to Fairy Tale Land – the blame and guilt and impending judgment that hung over her head – sat heavily on Regina's features as she stared at Emma.

"I know what you're doing," Emma let out a mirthless laugh and tugged her jacket off her shoulders, throwing it to one side. "You're trying to make me angry, trying to make me lose control."

"The only way to gain it is to understand how it feels to lose it," Regina told her. "An enemy won't wait for you to manage your powers. They'll take advantage of your weakness."

"Enemy?" Emma shoved at her hair and frowned. "We got rid of the only enemy we had, Regina. Rumpelstiltskin went through that portal thing and – and he's gone."

"How naïve of you to think that evil exists in a vacuum," Regina spat. "This land survives on the balance between good and evil, just as your powers do. You need to learn that, dear, in order to stop yourself being seduced by them, as I was."

"That's **not** going to happen," Emma said determinedly, jaw hardening. But the flutter of magic in her belly said otherwise, and she pressed her hands into fists again, feeling the sharp edges of fingernails against her palm.

"Prove it." A blast of magic shot from Regina's hands, shoving at Emma and igniting the low grumble of rage in her chest. Without thinking, she returned fire, this time with more force than she knew she possessed, and even if she rushed forwards as Regina was sent flying, Emma couldn't deny the sense of petty satisfaction that flooded through her.

"Are you okay?" Emma was suddenly beset with apology, reaching out to help Regina up. "I didn't mean to – "

"Yes, you did," Regina rolled over onto her elbow, rising from the ground and onto her knees. "That's good, Emma."

"Come on," Emma sighed. "I think that's enough magic for today. Let's go home and – and have a hot bath or something, or – "

She let out a cry as Regina hit her square in the chest with another hard shove of magic, eyes flying open in alarm as the other woman got to her feet. Regina's eyes were dark, her face clouded as she lifted her hands and pushed Emma back again, her magic growing in intensity and force. Another hit, another few paces lost as Emma staggered backwards, Regina rising up before her, sending surge after surge of magic towards the blonde.

"No, it's **not** enough," Regina hissed as Emma was flung against a broad tree, breath gushing from her lungs as her shoulders thudded against solid wood. "It's not **going** to be enough until you learn this, Emma."

"Regina, we've got time," Emma croaked, pressed against the tree by an invisible force that strained around her shoulders and chest.

"We really don't," Regina cried, moving in close to her and shaking her head wildly. "They won't forgive me, Emma. To think otherwise is to underestimate what I did – what I forced upon them."

She was distressed now, tears shining in her eyes, her voice stricken. "You have to protect yourself – protect Henry because I won't be able to when they want to take away my magic. They did it before. They'll do it again."

"I won't let them," Emma groaned. But her voice rose in pitch, becoming a cry of horror as the branches above her head began to move, reaching outwards before winding down around the trunk, curling around her arms and pinning her against the tree.

Regina stepped in now, her body almost touching Emma's, her face inches from the blonde's. There was an untamed, terrified glint in her eyes and Emma stared at her, confused and worried and trying to fight the creeping sense of panic that surrounded her, melting into the magic and almost overwhelming it completely.

"Emma, dear," Regina hissed, stroking a finger down Emma's cheek, observing how the other woman shivered under her touch. "I'm the Evil Queen. It's all they've ever seen me as."

"Stop that!" Emma said harshly. "Just…just **stop** it, Regina. The only person who thinks you haven't changed is **you**." She moved against the branches around her arms, but it was in vain as they tightened ever so slightly, the wood creaking as it moved under Regina's direction.

"And that, my sweet Savior, is why they'll take this away from me."

Emma's lips twisted at the tone of Regina's voice and she glimpsed for a second the terrible darkness that had swallowed the other woman, that had pulled her down into its depths and waged a battle that, she realized, Regina was still fighting.

"It's why they'll take **me** away from **you**."

In the moment that she said it, Regina's head bowed and it was sadness, not strength, that made her hand tremble. The desperation of her life yawned behind her, a past that rushed up to meet her in this land and held her in its clutches. Thoughts of escape were fleeting; her fate forged not in the powers she'd had here, but in the loneliness of an empty heart.

"That's not," Emma ground out, a muscle ticking high up on her cheek, "going to happen.

"Oh?" Regina said tearfully. "And who are **you** to stop them? If you can't control your powers, Emma, what then?"

"I'm the Savior. And maybe sometimes it's good to lose control." Emma let out a frustrated sigh as she struggled against the branches wrapped around her arms. "Maybe it's good to remind yourself that you still can."

She could see how it troubled the other woman, how it darkened Regina's gaze and tempted her into the shadows. It crossed her mind briefly that magic was a mire of self-doubt and lack of faith; to place herself entirely at its will was to give up the woman she'd become. The woman that the other world had made her. Losing control was to lose herself, and yet, as she pulled against the wooden bonds on her arms, she couldn't help wondering that in leaving that world behind, she might have also left behind the person she'd become, too.

"Don't struggle, dear," Regina's voice came in a rich, lazy drawl. "You'll get a splinter."

Emma's eyes narrowed as she looked at the other woman move even closer, felt Regina's hands on her shoulders, fingers sliding around her throat. Leaning in, Regina smiled before pressing her lips against Emma's, power and want and need pressing her back against the tree.

"Do you want to lose control with me?" Regina whispered, her hands roaming down Emma's body, pulling at the shirt she wore and scrabbling beneath it over warm skin. "Is that what you want, Savior?"

Desire obliterated everything else, Emma thought. The instinctual pull they felt towards one another was stronger and more demanding than notions of control. Regina's mouth was on her neck now, nipping and traveling over flesh, each point of contact exploding sparks of sensation into Emma's brain and making her whine, arching towards the other woman.

"Yes," she muttered as Regina laughed against her skin, the sound muffled. "God, yes."

The branches keeping her in place relaxed slightly, easing the pressure on her arms, but Emma didn't care. She flattened her hands out against the wood, feeling the bark rough beneath her palms as Regina's tongue slid over her own and burst a thousand prickling sensations through her synapses. _Magic_, Emma thought. Whatever was amplifying this urge between them, it had to be magic. And it was magic that Regina was using now to keep her in place, entrap and restrain her.

It should have felt wrong. But as Regina's hands moved beneath her shirt, scraping up over her torso to cup her breasts in fingers that squeezed hard, a thumb that bumped and rubbed over her hardening nipples, Emma wasn't sure that anything had ever felt more right. Nobody would take this away from her, she vowed silently; nobody would rob her of anything ever again, not if she had to die protecting it. Because true magic wasn't made of rules and permission and control; it was made from _this_.

She gasped as one of Regina's hands slid down to her waist, tugging at the fastening on her breeches. Seconds later, that hand smoothed over the curve of her stomach, down towards where she was already wet, already thrusting her hips forwards, anticipating the icy heat as a point of contact was made. It trickled through her, this feeling that the other woman bestowed and accentuated, and as she pressed her head back against the tree trunk, Emma wondered if they'd always had this sort of power within them; if it had always been there beneath the surface, muted by the other world but not extinguished by it.

Regina's face pressed against her shoulder as she slid her fingers into Emma, a hiss escaping her lips as the blonde moaned loudly. Further in, deeper and more forcefully, Regina pushed her fingers in up to the knuckle, leaning against Emma's body and scraping her teeth over a clavicle before baring them, biting down hard as she thrust inside a searing, molten heat that clenched around her touch.

It spread through her entire body, an intense buzzing that deafened Emma and weakened her, the magic remaining the only thing keeping her upright as her legs trembled and Regina moved in and out of her with an increasing pace.

"Do you feel that?" Regina lifted her head and stared into Emma's eyes.

"Yes…**yes**…" Emma could barely force the word out in a way that made any sense. This wasn't just about feeling; she knew that. This was about _being_. About who they were. About magic.

Pressing her mouth against Emma's ear, Regina's uneven breath tickled and warmed the skin there. "Do you want it? Want to give yourself to it?"

"Oh god…yes, yes…please, Regina," Emma whimpered and pushed forwards with her hips, feeling Regina's fingers plunge into her once more, seeing a tiny smile tug at the corner of Regina's mouth. "**Please**," she gulped over the word, her throat dry, her senses aflame.

"Then show me," Regina demanded, driving her fingers into Emma, using her own body to slam her hand against the other woman. She closed her eyes, her forehead dropping onto Emma's shoulder and knew that this was all they had left now – all she had to offer. And once her purpose was served, there would be no more magic, no more safety, nothing but the sentence of her past misdeeds come to bear justice upon her soul.

"**Show** me," Regina said again in a guttural tone, curling the tips of her fingers inside Emma, scraping her nails over slippery flesh that was slick with unspent lust and the aching, throbbing sensation that her touch instilled. She felt it too, almost as if she was part of it, part of Emma, part of this indescribable emotion that they had engendered in one another.

The magic holding Emma against the tree weakened, the branches wrapped around the blonde's arms receding up until they were safely ensconced in the leafy tree overhead. Emma clutched at Regina, grasping her in an embrace that was desperate, needy, trembling on the precipice of release. Emma cried out as power surged through her; this wasn't about control anymore. It was about them. Just them.

She tensed, stiffening as she sucked in air and held it in her lungs, head swimming, vision blurring. And then she fell, plummeting down through all the rules she'd ever made for herself, all the boundaries she'd ever drawn that kept her from surrendering. It felt good; it felt like freedom, like all she needed was this power that would sustain her and keep her safe. Keep _them_ safe.

As her body shook and trembled against Regina's, Emma gave herself up to whatever fate this world held for them, embroiled and intertwined with the magic that only the other woman could bestow upon her. It was right, she thought, heart clattering in her chest and surging the sound of her own pulse into her brain. It was right.


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12

The incredulity in Regina's eyes was matched only by Emma's expression as they gaped across the round table towards Snow and Charming. They'd been brought here by royal request – something which Emma still found laughable considering that in Storybrooke, Mary Margaret had been too timid to request _anything_, much less issue a royal decree – and had been made as comfortable as possible in the castle where Regina still received looks of suspicion and not a little resentment.

"I'm sorry…**what**?" Emma finally found her voice and squinted at her parents, shaking her head.

She'd listened to Snow and Charming explain about impending war with a growing sense of bewilderment; of all the things she'd anticipated from Fairy Tale Land, this wasn't one of them. Happy endings and magic and the things that Henry's book had laid out in colorful pictures and even more colorful language seemed to slip away in light of the reality that she'd seen for herself. And now…war. Battle. The sort of feudal existence that belonged to an antagonistic history that Emma knew had the power to shape countries and shatter lives. She remembered reading about America's Civil War in school – on the days she attended – and the corners of her mouth turned down as she looked at her parents, their faces set in stern lines as they looked back at her and Regina.

"You're joking, right?" Emma blustered, filling the silence that had descended over the table with a breathy laugh that came from nervousness rather than amusement.

"I wish we were," Charming muttered, heaving a great sigh.

"This isn't what we want," Snow added, gripping her husband's arm and proffering a tight smile towards her daughter.

"Then why do it?" Emma asked, shaking her head.

"Because good always wins, dear."

Three pairs of eyes turned to Regina, who had remained silent until now. There was a weary tone to her voice, a bright hardness to her eyes that spread across her face, stretching it into stern lines. She blinked as they stared at her and wondered how, after all the warring that she'd entered into with such vengeful gusto in the past, the idea of doing so again sat like a heavy stone in her chest.

"That's the way this world works," Regina said abruptly. "I know that better than anyone."

Across the table, her gaze met Snow's in tacit understanding; the acknowledgement of all that had gone before and all that had changed.

"But – but that was before people were – you know – they're not who they used to be!" Emma planted a hand on the table, fingernails scratching absently at the wood. "We've come from a world where it's pretty clear that war doesn't…it doesn't solve anything!"

"We're not **in** that world anymore," Charming told her. "And coming back here has changed people. King George always hated me – hated **us** for what we took from him. Now he wants it back."

Emma pressed her lips into a firm line; the malcontent existence that had troubled her rose up now, an unshakeable tide of anger and frustration that, if she were honest, tightened a knot of rage in her own gut. This wasn't how things were meant to be. This wasn't how things _would_ be if they were still back in Storybrooke, where people accepted their lot in ways that she now knew they never would here.

"And what – you're just going to go to war with him?" she asked, throwing up her hands in disbelief.

"We don't have a choice," Snow asserted.

"Yeah, you do," Emma leaned over the table, brows furrowing. "There's **always** a choice."

"That's not how it works here," Charming asserted. "This land is different to – "

"No shit," Emma interjected, leaning back in her chair with a huff and staring down at her lap. It wasn't until Regina's hand crept over her own that she looked up, staring at her parents as though she didn't know them. And that was the crux of it all, wasn't it? The people she'd come to view as friends and compatriots in Storybrooke had all but gone, just like everything else that she'd clung to there. It was difficult for her not to feel somewhat cheated, just like she had as a child. Because the moment she'd started to believe in the notion of family, it had always been taken away from her.

"Emma," Snow sighed, a troubled expression darkening her features, "this is where we are now, for better or worse. You didn't know King George…he's a cruel man. He's gathered together an army made up of…well, who knows what and we have to meet him with equal force otherwise the life we have here – **everything** we have here will change."

"Everything already **has** changed!" Emma hissed, and Regina's fingers squeezed her own gently. But she felt the anger rise in her chest, forming a lump in her throat that she swallowed over, railing against it in the same way she did this new life. She hadn't asked for either, didn't want either, and resented the way her longing for what they'd left behind burned, acidic and hot.

"Look, we didn't make this decision lightly," Charming straightened in his chair, his voice deepening. "But we need the most powerful allies with us, not against us."

"I'm an **ally** now, am I?" Regina's eyebrows rose as Emma clutched at her hand. "And here's me thinking that I wasn't supposed to use my magic."

She might have felt guilty, feigning innocence about her powers, about how she and Emma had started to indulge in them. But guilt, Regina knew, was the weakness that ran through her veins, almost as strongly as the magic that connected her to Emma in ways that Snow simply couldn't understand. And she would be damned if she allowed Emma's parents to see either. They'd plundered her weaknesses more than enough in her long, miserable life, so as she looked at the woman across the table from her, there was more of the Evil Queen meeting Snow's gaze than the broken, fractured woman she'd become.

"You're right," Snow lifted her chin defiantly, but her eyes spoke volumes about the dangers that lay ahead – dangers that had the power to dispel all the happy endings she'd dreamed of. "Things **have** changed, but you and Emma…both of you seem insistent that you've changed too. And I asked you to prove it, so here's your opportunity. If you really **are** different now, then show us."

"Would you like me to rip out George's heart?" Regina darted back. "Kill him to avert a war nobody wants to fight?"

Charming's face contorted at the suggestion, his lip curling in distaste. He grunted and passed a hand over his face, rubbing at the stubble on his chin as his wife stiffened beside him.

"That's not our way," he rumbled.

"No, but it **is** mine," Regina said harshly. "And it's rather ironic, don't you think, that you wanted to execute me for my use of dark magic and now you wish to use it?"

"It's not as simple as that," Snow answered. "Regina, this is your chance to do something good, something right."

"As long as it's **your** idea of what's good and what's right," Regina said sharply. "Tell me, dear, when you get what you want **this** time, will I be cast out of the kingdom again to live in misery once more?"

A frown formed around Snow's eyes. She'd banished Regina for good reason, for the good of them all. But those stark concepts that she'd clung to with such faith and strength now seemed unstable, wavering hazily in her head along with the confusing myriad of emotions that Regina instilled – had always done so. Because what was once loved so dearly had the power to hurt deeply, and still did.

"That's not going to happen," Emma spoke clearly, with all the determination that she'd inherited from her mother, and all the resolute desire to hang on to the new family that she'd garnered for herself. There would be no losing _anything_ this time.

"We need your help, Regina." Charming frowned, because he'd gone over and over the possibility of this in his mind, of asking the former Evil Queen for the one thing they'd never needed from her. The one thing that might make them strong, able to fend off George's attack and restore some stability to this land. "A storm is coming. This is no time to argue."

"No, apparently it's a time for me to swear fealty to the very people who want me gone," Regina said slowly. "You may not think I'm good, but I'm good enough for you to assert your authority over this realm. I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks that's hardly befitting of a fairytale prince and his queen."

"Enough, Regina," Snow sighed, shaking her head. "This is your chance to prove to us – to **all** of us – that you're not that woman anymore." Her lips turned downwards in the memory of their fetid history with one another.

"She doesn't need magic to do that," Emma insisted. "She doesn't need to fight a war to do that, either. None of us do. This is…it's ridiculous!" she exclaimed, eyes widening as she looked between her parents.

"No, it's not," Charming said bluntly. "It's how we live here. How we survive."

"Living and surviving aren't the same things," Emma told him. "Believe me, I've done both and I sure as hell preferred one over the other." She let go of Regina's hand, pushing her fingers through her hair and letting out a grumbling sigh. All the battles she'd ever fought paled beside what her parents were proposing – that war, even in Fairy Tale Land, was as unavoidable as all the fighting she'd ever had to do in her other life.

"Without one, we can't have the other," Snow urged, looking sympathetically at her daughter. "Emma, in this land, we simply can't allow evil to win. You might not like the life we have here, but at least it's **ours**. Should George take the kingdom, there's no telling how he'll seek to destroy our happiness."

"And going to war is the only option you have?" Emma's head jerked back on her neck. "If you want to make a change, then **make** one. Stop preparing for battle and make this a place where everyone can live how they want."

"What do you mean?" Snow asked.

"Well, a little democracy might help," Emma grunted. "Giving people a choice…a vote. We spent twenty eight years in a place where kings and queens didn't make decisions on who would die and who would fight wars."

"No, but your elected government did," Snow told her. "How is that any different?"

"Because you're telling Regina that she has a choice about all of this, when she really doesn't," Emma met her mother's gaze and held it for a long moment, her voice as heavy as the hard truths in her eyes. "You're telling her she's forbidden from using magic, but now it's fine as long as it's for your benefit. I mean…come on, you guys, don't you see how that's maybe the tiniest bit hypocritical? Not to mention the fact that you want to go to war. People will die. People you say you care about."

She shook her head sadly, because this was about as far from a happy ending as anything else this world might have thrown at her. And again, she fervently wished that they were back in Storybrooke, where the laws and morals she had navigated were far more familiar than the sort of desperate strictures her parents were willing to indulge in.

"We won't surrender to that man," Charming spat, the memory of how George had imprisoned him, sought to kill him as fresh in his mind as any other he might have of a more gentle jail where he'd lived in ignorance for so many years. "We **cannot** surrender to him. Emma, you have to trust us – believe that what we're doing is right."

"So you should have my trust, just like that?" Emma echoed, blinking rapidly in disbelief. "But Regina has to earn yours, right?"

Charming's gaze narrowed as he looked at Regina, stoic and rigid in her chair. But he acquiesced to the logic his daughter threw at him, because even he had to admit that trust wasn't to be thrown around easily. His heart might want to put faith in his daughter, might yearn for hers in return, but it was his head that proceeded with a cautionary, hesitant step. Because if there was no trust between what he loved so dearly and what he knew was his duty as a royal, then how could there be anything like family ahead for each and every one of them?

"Regina…" Snow looked across the table, her gaze roaming the other woman's features. "We want to rebuild this land. Coming back here hasn't been easy for any of us, and I know it's hard for you too with the…the magic. But we want this land to be better than before. **We** want to be better than before. And that goes for all of us. So, please, Regina, won't you help us? Don't you want to be a part of that too?"

Regina was silent. Judgment, it seemed, was being meted out despite Emma's determination to stop it; despite her own weary acceptance that it was inevitable. And for all the warnings she'd given Emma about using her powers for good, Regina knew that to give in to her own powers, to use them in battle like she always had was a desire that would overwhelm her one way or another. Because dark magic, like the allure and sway towards love that had instigated all of this in the first place, was terrifyingly seductive. She might have to earn the trust of Snow and Charming in ways that she'd sworn she'd never employ again, but it was the price of trust that pricked at her conscience and fluttered in her chest.

"Why don't you think about it?" Charming, equivocal as ever, rose from his chair and put his hand comfortingly onto Snow's shoulder. "We're having a banquet tonight for our allies. I trust you'll be there?"

"Sure," Emma grumbled, scraping her chair back over the stone floor and getting to her feet. "Because nothing says preparing for war more than overeating, right?" she said sardonically, ignoring the pained look her mother gave and instead shoving her hands into her pockets, chin dropping down onto her chest.

"It would be a wonderful opportunity for you to meet the rulers of neighboring kingdoms," Snow said, frowning at her daughter. "I don't know whether you've realized or not, but you're a princess now, Emma. You might try at least pretending to act like one."

Regina glanced at Emma, seeing a muscle tick high up on the blonde's cheek. Without a second thought, she rose to her feet and put a hand onto Emma's arm. Snow and Charming would never really understand how this worked – how any of this worked. Their lives had been filled with glory and nobility: the grand gestures of those who never had to struggle to feel the simplest of emotions without fear that they would be their undoing, in the end. So how could they possibly understand a daughter who wasn't adjusting to life here because she couldn't? Because her heart had been battered and hidden behind the sort of walls that Regina herself had built; walls that made concepts like trust and love so very difficult to hand out in the same way that Snow and Charming did.

Her touch was a warning, a prescient knowledge that now was not the time for this, nor was it the place. And even if Regina wasn't sure if there ever would be a time or place in which Emma could give vent to the anger that ran hot beneath the surface of everything expected of her in this land, she knew that her time and her place was by Emma's side, always. A faithful, devoted queen.

Before they turned and left the room, Regina looked carefully at Snow. The child she'd cared for had turned into a woman who was struggling, she could see that as clearly as she could see how it hurt Snow to admonish the daughter she'd never known. Especially as all the years Regina had stolen from them now yawned wide, a bottomless chasm filled with regret and not a little shame.

Snow's lips twitched, but she was wise enough not to say anymore and Regina inclined her head briefly. For that, at the very least, she was thankful. For that, she knew, she owed Snow the luxury of deliberation and the hard-made decisions that surely lay ahead.

XxxXxx

"Can you believe them?" Emma blurted, pacing back and forth in front of Regina, who was starting to worry that the blonde would wear a hole in the woven rug beneath her feet. She hadn't stopped moving agitatedly around the room since they'd returned to their chambers in Snow's castle, and had managed to work herself up into a barely restrained rage, muttering all the while about what had transpired in the War Room.

"They're doing what they think is best, dear," Regina said from her vantage point on the bed.

"Best?" Emma spat, turning to fix a horrified glare on the other woman. "They've got a fucking nerve. One minute they're debating what your sentence should be and the next they're coming to you for help? I don't even fucking **know** these people anymore."

She stalked from one end of the room to the other, her face set in lines of discontent and anger. It spread over her cheeks in a scarlet flush and she shoved at her hair, huffing out a growl as words failed her. Going to war, no matter what the cause, wasn't the answer to her parents' problems. In fact, if she'd been able to think rationally and without the prickly heat of rage pulling at her senses, then she'd have been able to see them parents and not as obstacles to the happy ending she had envisaged that this world might hold for her.

But, once again, it seemed that Fairy Tale Land was fated to disappoint her at every turn. And, Emma's lip curled as she turned around and stomped across the room towards Regina, dash her hopes that she and Regina would be left alone in peace to raise Henry as best they could in this world.

"Well?" she blurted, stopping in front of the bed and glaring at Regina. "You've really got **nothing** to say about this?"

Regina was surprisingly calm; irritatingly so, actually. She pressed her lips together in a firm line, shoulders lifting in a sigh that flared her nostrils as she exhaled.

"I doubt there's anything I **could** say to change the situation," she finally said. "King George will have his revenge one way or another. And your parents are only doing what they were taught to do – what they **had** to do when I was their enemy."

"But they lived in a democracy for almost thirty years!" Emma protested, throwing her hands up in the air. As they landed back onto her thighs with a slap, she shook her head vehemently. "You can't just experience something like that and not have it change the way you see things, can you?"

Regina shrugged, looking at Emma's screwed up features with an almost dispassionate expression.

"It was hardly a democracy," she told the blonde. "It may have had the appearance of such, but nothing ever happened in Storybrooke because the **people** wanted it to. I might have moved worlds to find a happy ending, but I was still their enemy. **That** part didn't change."

"Well maybe the appearance of democracy was enough," Emma muttered.

Regina let out a little laugh, sad and brittle. "And perhaps, for your parents, the appearance of me acting as their ally will be enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Emma's chin jerked out and she clenched her hands into fists, magic burning in her fingertips.

"That whatever we might be striving for," Regina began, "your mother and I may have to indulge in a pretense for the sake of everyone else. To keep the peace."

"I don't understand," Emma said bluntly. "This isn't you, Regina. You don't lie down and let people walk all over you. You never have. When we first met – "

"When we first met, dear," Regina cut in, "I didn't have Henry, not really. And I didn't have you. Things change. People change. I have far more at stake now than I ever did in my previous life."

"For the better, sure!" Emma said, exasperated. "But how is rolling over and accepting whatever my parents throw at you anything like better?"

"I need to atone," Regina said, her voice harsh, eyes glittering with the shame that she'd only just learned to accept, let alone feel. "This is the price…the payment I need to make. I once had all the power in this land and abused it. Isn't it right that your – that Snow should do the same now that she possesses it?"

Emma's mouth opened and closed several times as she stared at Regina, eyes widening as she surveyed the other woman, how quiet and vulnerable she seemed, how resigned she was to whatever fate was meted out by hands that were stronger than her own. It wasn't right. No matter what Regina had done – no matter what she still might be capable of – there was a part of Emma that refused to stop fighting for justice; a justice that would appease all of them, even Regina, who seemed most wronged in all of this. But in _this_ world, justice lay, not in the needs of the many, but in the will of the few.

"You think she can't forgive you." It wasn't so much a question as more a statement of intent, and as Regina's gaze slid up to meet Emma's, the blonde knew that she was right. What she knew about the Evil Queen had been steeped in determination, indomitable will and the refusal to ever give up until vengeance was paid in full.

But what she'd seen in Regina, what she'd learned from being with the woman herself, was layered in doubt and grief and a hurt that simply wouldn't go away. Everything Regina might have been was lost in the mists of a past that had been arrested, a development that had been curtailed. Finding out who she might yet be at this late stage was traumatic for Regina; Emma could see that as clearly as she could see the lines around the other woman's eyes, the way her lips were tense, how she clutched at her body with desperate fingers.

"This is your mother's opportunity for revenge," Regina said quietly. "To punish me for what I did to her – to all of you."

"Regina," Emma took a step towards the bed and sighed heavily, "that's not how – it's not how it works."

"Isn't it?" Regina's voice was bitter, tainted by history and the legacy it had carved on her heart and soul.

"Jesus, no!" Losing patience, Emma clenched her back teeth together. "Seriously, don't you know how adult relationships work? I mean, have you ever actually understood how **people** work, at all? It's not about forcing things out of people, it's about what you owe. What you **both** owe to one another."

It was harsh; she knew that. But even as Regina shrank from the accusation, whatever defiance remained deep within her rose to the surface.

"That's a little rich, coming from someone who ran away from everything that constituted an adult relationship."

"I came back," Emma said in a low voice. "And we might be stuck here, Regina, but what you're doing? This whole defeatist thing? That's **your** version of running away."

"And what do you suggest I do, dear?" Regina got up from the bed, moving forwards and meeting Emma's gaze head on. There was a glimmer of her old self contained in dark eyes, shades of who she used to be and the animosity that lurked beneath the surface of a stoic Mayor. "Refuse to help your parents? Curse them again?"

"Don't be stupid," Emma growled, frowning. "That's not what I mean."

It crackled between them: a surge of power that prickled at the backs of their necks, that had perhaps always existed between them. Only now, in this land, it was given energy and strength. It was in the air that they breathed, pounding in their blood and manifesting itself in the essence of their very being.

Regina looked away first, turning and moving across the room to look out of the window. Her hands were trembling and she clasped them together, pressing hard. Doing the right thing was something of a mystery to her; and she was floundering – she knew that more than anything else right now. How to be what this land wanted, what Snow wanted and what Emma wanted was an impossible task. Serving one meant abandoning the others, surely?

"You're right," she finally said, glancing over her shoulder at Emma. "Perhaps I don't know how to have an adult relationship. I was never afforded that luxury by anyone in my life – not my own mother, and **certainly** not yours. But I am trying to do what's best. Just like they are."

"No," Emma marched across the room and grabbed Regina's arm just above the elbow. "You're really not. You're just doing the exact opposite of everything you did before because you think that's what they want. And it's not who you are, Regina."

"Oh, really?" Regina's eyebrows rose. She looked down to where Emma's fingers gripped her arm, unrelenting, bleeding magic into her through the useless barrier of her clothes. "And who am I, Emma?"

"You're a woman who doesn't give up," Emma hissed, leaning in close to Regina. "You fight. And even if the end result changes, the way you fight doesn't. Look at how you fought for Henry, for me."

"I'm tired of fighting!" Regina tugged her arm free of Emma's grasp. "I'm tired of having to be strong when that's the last thing I feel. That woman you met in Storybrooke is gone, Emma! She lost much. She's not here anymore."

"I don't believe you," Emma's nostrils flared as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to contain the bubbling, acrid anger that scorched her throat. "I know who you are, Regina. And who you'll always be."

"And so, apparently, does your mother," Regina snarled back. "It's my magic she wants, not my willing help. Your parents want to use me to win their battle, nothing more."

There was something of the swagger about the way she moved, throwing out her hands and looking at Emma with scorn shining in her gaze. The woman Regina had been might be gone, but she wasn't forgotten.

"You remember what I told you about punching back?" Emma asked. "About showing people who you are?"

"I don't **want** to punch back!" Regina's voice rose to a strained pitch and she could see how it rankled, painting crimson colors across the tops of Emma's cheeks. "Don't you see, Emma? It's a futile task. Too much has happened between Snow and I for her to ever consider forgiving me, let alone allowing me to have my happy ending. It's gone, Emma. It's all gone!"

"That's not true," Emma bit back.

"You foolish girl," Regina retorted. "It's over. And so is this conversation."

She moved to push past Emma, heading for the door of their bedchamber when something stopped her. Not the blonde's hand on her arm, but an invisible force that held her in place for a second. By the time she realized what was happening, Regina felt herself propelled backwards, hitting the far wall of their room. A gust of air whooshed from her lungs as she felt her back press against stone, as she attempted to struggle before comprehension trickled ice down her spine.

Emma was holding out her hand, palm up, a few feet away. The muted green of her eyes was almost obliterated by the glisten of gold, magic winding from her fingertips in lazy tendrils that dissipated into the ether. Her mouth was set in a firm line, face contorted into a rage that Regina understood, had felt for herself so long ago.

"This," Emma forced out through taut lips, "isn't over."

As they stared at one another, Regina's eyes widening in horror, neither of them heard the door to their chamber open. Lost in a whirling moment where magic shimmered in the air and Regina felt it hard and fast around her ribs, trapping her limbs and making her a prisoner, neither of them saw a small figure move further into the room until it spoke in a tremulous, anxious tone.

"Mom?" Henry said, looking between Regina and Emma. "Mom – Emma – what's…what's going on? What are you doing to her?"


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13

There was a buzz in the banqueting hall, voices rising and falling in an endless, unintelligible chatter that almost overwhelmed the music emanating from a string quartet at one end of the room. Emma hadn't expected to see so many people arrive in carriages and on horseback; her parents' influence stretching much further and wider throughout the land than she could possibly have anticipated. She remembered Regina once telling her that Storybrooke was bigger than she could imagine and this certainly seemed true as she surveyed the throng of finely dressed nobles around her. She didn't know half of them –_ most_ of them, in fact.

But they _all_ seemed to know her. After a couple of hours being stared at and whispered about, she was beginning to feel agitated. She was horribly, desperately uncomfortable being the center of attention, even if it _was_ the polite, detached attention that belonged to the etiquette of this world.

Usually, she would cling to Regina and Henry, seeking solace in the tight, secure family unit that they'd formed. Usually, she would find her own strength in their proximity and the comfort that they offered without even trying. It was what they'd become, all three of them. What she relied on.

Looking across the room, Emma caught sight of Regina, far away and with too many bodies between them for her to see the other woman clearly. There had been a hush over the room when Regina made her entrance with Henry holding onto her hand. The deep, blood-red velvet of her gown draped over the curves of her body, accentuating her feminine power and the sensuality that was so particularly hers.

Regina was arrestingly beautiful, so much so that Emma felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight. She wanted to go to Regina, to touch her, bask in who she was and what she represented. But, like all the other people in the room, Emma simply stared as Regina lifted her chin, her gaze sweeping the hall, challenging anyone and everyone to dispute her presence.

Nobody had. Nobody dared. Except Snow, who had moved forwards, brushing her fingers through Henry's hair and mustering up a faint smile of welcome for the woman who returned it with tight, unwilling lips. A détente, after all, was better than nothing. Better than what they'd been.

Looking through the crowd now, Emma watched as Regina scanned the room, their eyes finally meeting as the courtiers unwittingly moved aside. She had fled from their room after Henry burst in, feet pounding down the castle corridors, nausea rising in her gut and bubbling in her throat. Emma hadn't returned until she was sure Regina was gone, scrambling into a change of clothes, half-wondering what the hell had happened.

Apologies were redundant; she knew that. And as she met Regina's gaze, Emma saw the accusation in dark eyes as clearly as she felt guilt flush heat over the tops of her cheeks. But Regina was proud, as closed as she'd ever been in Storybrooke. The only tremulous chink in the armor that was so typical of the other woman was the way her arm slid around Henry's shoulders, drawing him a little closer to her side.

He looked in her direction, then. And Emma's mouth opened slightly as her son looked at her with the same sort of anger – and not a little fear – in his eyes.

A hand on her shoulder startled her and she turned with a gasp, looking into the face of her mother. Snow was resplendent tonight in white taffeta, lined with fur and feathers. Flowers had been woven into her hair and she looked every bit the fairytale princess that Emma had read about and envisaged. For a second, she blinked at the woman, recognizing her but not knowing her. It was disorienting, to say the least.

"You decided against the dress I had sent up for you," Snow said softly, running her fingers over the brocade on Emma's jacket. It was military style, as was befitting a knight of the realm. And even if her daughter wore it well, sword slung around her waist, tight breeches and knee-high boots completing the outfit, Emma didn't look at all like the princess Snow had always imagined raising.

Emma shrugged off her mother's touch and folded her arms over her chest, defiance glittering in her eyes. If she was honest with herself, she was still pissed with the proposition her parents had presented to her and Regina; still felt the pang of discontent in her chest at how unfair this all was – to Regina, to Henry, and especially to her. Being the Savior in Storybrooke was one thing; being a princess in a world that should have been make-believe was something else – something Emma wasn't sure she wanted at all.

"It was really…uh…it was pretty," she said shortly, recalling the dress that had been carefully laid out on her bed, lace and silk in a vibrant blue. But she'd curled her lip at it, at the woman this world was trying to make her into. It was a costume, not clothing. And she'd be damned if she'd take part in this ridiculous fairytale Halloween.

"But it wasn't for you," Snow said, then pressed her lips together and tilted her head onto one side, surveying Emma through a narrowed gaze.

"I'm just not ready for it," Emma's brow knitted together. "For **that**, I mean. This whole being a princess thing – it's fine for you. You've done it before. But I've never – I mean, it's just not…you know…**me**."

Snow's palm pressed to her cheek and Emma half-smiled at the warmth in her mother's touch. The other woman was trying; she knew that. But all that had been taken from them echoed in the years that stretched behind in another land, another world. And Emma shifted as Snow's thumb stroked along her cheek, trying not to notice the tears of regret that sparkled suddenly in her mother's eyes.

"This is all a little overwhelming, isn't it?" Snow asked gently, withdrawing her hand and waving it in the general direction of the people gathered in the room.

Emma looked at her agog and Snow laughed self-consciously. "Ya think?" the blonde murmured, shaking her head. "All these people who lived in Storybrooke for almost thirty years…they've just come back here and put on their old clothes and gone back to something they've already done. But I can't – I can't just put on a dress and be the princess you want me to be. It's not who I am. It's not what my world made me."

"We're all getting used to being back here – "

"But that's just it, isn't it?" Emma cut in, as Snow blinked at her in surprise at the sound of her voice: harsh and resentful. "It's like everything that happened in Storybrooke meant nothing to all of you. All these people here tonight, they've put on their old lives in the same way they've put on all these fancy clothes."

Clenching her arms together, Emma took a breath, let it out slowly in an effort to stem the sudden, hot spurt of anger that came from nowhere and threatened to manifest itself in the magic that had become, worryingly, more habit than anything else.

"It wasn't nothing to me," she said in a low voice, her gaze searching out Regina once more across the room, longing for her closeness and the familiarity it represented.

"It wasn't nothing to me either!" Snow told her, eyes widening. "Emma, Storybrooke is where I found you again! Where we all found one another."

"Yeah, as a **friend**," Emma said firmly. "We were friends in Storybrooke. Not mother and daughter. And of all the scenarios I could have possibly concocted in all the years I lived without you, this really wasn't one of them. Believe me, playing dress up wasn't a part of my childhood and it's sure as hell not going to be a part of my adulthood, either."

"It's a little more than **that**." Snow's mouth tightened and she smoothed her hands down over the full skirt of her dress.

"**Is** it?" Emma darted back. "This whole thing tonight is a party to celebrate going to war, right?"

"Emma!" Snow gasped, horrified. "If we could avoid it, then we certainly would."

"Yeah, well," Emma sighed, her hand moving to grasp the hilt of her sword, fingers curling around it tightly. "You **can** avoid it. But this…this kind of life and the traditions of this place mean more to you than anything else, so it's not that you **can't** avoid war, it's that you choose **not** to."

She watched her mother as Snow's mouth worked around a suitable response but came up with nothing. And it occurred to the blonde that Storybrooke hadn't been meaningless for Snow, either. All that had happened there did mean something and Emma had to wonder how many of the gathered nobles in the room felt the same way; if war really was unavoidable and if this wasn't some last ditch attempt to convince everyone that nothing had changed in Fairy Tale Land.

Yes, she thought with a sigh, glancing at Snow and the consternation that flitted across her features, she surely wasn't the only one here tonight who knew that it irrevocably _had_.

XxxXxx

"She looks uncomfortable."

Tearing her gaze away from where Emma was fidgeting with the collar of her jacket and attempting to feign interest in whatever her mother was saying, Regina turned and was faced with the tentative smile of Kathryn Nolan. Or, she corrected herself, with a tiny grimace, Princess Abigail.

"Our Savior's never been very good at hiding her feelings," Regina commented dryly, her gaze flickering back towards Emma, heart sinking at the distance between them and how they hadn't exchanged a single word since Emma had run from their chambers.

Abigail's mouth twitched in something close to a smile. "She's not the only one."

Now Regina stared at the other woman, scanning her features with suspicious eyes. Of all the people who'd kept her at arm's length tonight, all those who had stood back and let her pass as she entered the room and those who had bent their heads to murmur god only knows what about her, it was Abigail who managed to send a pang of regret shooting through her chest without even trying. Because the most recent memories Regina had of the woman were bound in a friendship that had been offered freely. It wasn't the fealty that Regina had torn from this land and the people in it with a cruel, merciless hand. No; it was something different; something given to her although she had never really been able to discern why or how.

"Hey, Mrs Nolan – " Henry began, then stopped and squinted up at Abigail, screwing up his and shaking his head. "I mean, your Highness," he added, a little shamefacedly.

Abigail smiled kindly at him as Regina slid her arm around his shoulders, leaning down and pulling him to her.

"Henry, why don't you run along and join your grandmother," she said gently.

"She's with Emma," he said sharply, and they shared a look that spoke of the explanations that he'd demanded and that Regina had been unable to give him. The boy had been resolute, even indignant on Regina's behalf, but she had promised that they would talk to him later, that everything was fine, that everyone made mistakes. He hadn't believed her. But in the melee of the oncoming gathering, Regina had been able to sidestep the issue long enough to hope that he would forget about it.

As he gazed up at her now, she couldn't resist a little smile of indulgence. Their son had inherited his birth mother's stubborn nature and his adoptive mother's refusal to let things go; a fatal combination in anyone, but in a child who had Henry's determination, who'd seen the things he had and still believed that there was good in her heart, Regina knew that they would be forced to return to the incident sooner or later.

She fervently hoped it would be later. Much, _much_ later. Perhaps when she'd had time to process it all herself.

"Henry," she said, cupping his chin in her fingers, "go and spend some time with Snow. Don't be angry with Emma. That's not what tonight is about."

He opened his mouth to protest but Regina fixed him with the sort of look that brooked no dissent. "Be a good boy, now," she said firmly.

His mother might not be the Evil Queen anymore, but even Henry knew better than to argue with Regina when she made a request that had always been more like an order back in Storybrooke. They might have changed locations but, Henry's shoulders hitched as he let out an aggrieved sigh, Regina was still his mother. Still in charge and, he reasoned, still capable of making him feel like the boy he was instead of the prince he wanted to become.

In an odd way, he thought, nodding reluctantly and making his way across the room, weaving through the crowd, it offered him the sort of familiar comfort that he realized he missed far more than he'd ever admit. Because they couldn't go back. He told himself that every single day. But, as every day passed, it became harder and harder to accept.

Regina watched him go, the unsettled feeling in her chest that she'd tried so hard to quell returning, bringing with it a prescient understanding of what had transpired between her and Emma; of the harm that magic might do. Straightening, she attempted to push it aside once more and turned to Abigail.

"You're lending your army to the cause, I expect?" she said, as Abigail inclined her head and sighed a little.

"My father decided it would be in his best interests," she told Regina. "And nobody wants King George to take control. Not now things are so…"

"Uncertain?" Regina suggested, and Abigail nodded. They both looked around the room; some courtiers were engaging in a traditional dance of the realm, smiling and laughing as though nothing had ever happened. But it _had_. Regina swallowed down the lump of fear in her throat because what was done could never be undone; she could never take it back, not from a single soul in this room. Yet they clung to their old lives with gusto, indulging in them even though they weren't quite the same – nothing and nobody was, not now.

"I'd forgotten, you know," Abigail remarked, as Regina turned to look at her. "All of this…the endless banquets and entertaining my father did. The dresses," Abigail plucked at her gown and let out a little noise of disgruntlement.

"Well you look lovely, dear," Regina's gaze swept up and down Abigail's body. "I'm sure your father is very proud."

"That's not what I – " Abigail started, blinking thoughtfully before her lips formed a hard line. She took a step closer to Regina and put her hand out, resting it gently on the other woman's arm.

"This is harder for some people than it is for others," she said in a low voice, glancing over her shoulder lest they should be overheard. "I may be a princess here but I hear what people say – all the people who had to return to a life they were relieved to have left behind."

Regina frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

"What I mean," Abigail said slowly, "is that the life you gave us – gave **me** was something of an escape."

"It was a cursed existence," Regina muttered. "I deceived you, **all** of you. I made you think you were in love with that – with our heroic Prince Charming." Her mouth twisted over the description.

"Except that he was neither a prince, nor was he heroic," Abigail asserted. "I wasn't in love with him and he most certainly wasn't in love with me. And do you know who helped me realize that, Regina?"

"The Savior," Regina answered in a flat tone. "She broke the curse and restored people's memories. I am aware of the limitations on my curse, as are you, dear."

"No," Abigail shook her head. "It was **you**, Regina." Her fingers closed around Regina's arm and she let out a tiny noise of sympathy at how the other woman frowned, at the alarm that fluttered across her features.

"When Emma left, I told you that what you and she had was true," Abigail said gently. "And seeing it made me realize what David and I had **wasn't**. You were there for me, as a friend."

"That was part of the curse," Regina pulled her arm from Abigail's grasp and took a faltering, tiny step backwards. "You thought I was the Mayor, not the Evil Queen of this world."

"No, I thought you were my **friend**," Abigail said. "And you were."

She looked around the room again, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the airs and graces that had been fortified with wine and a banquet fit for all the kings of the realm. It was almost ironic, the ways in which she'd learned pragmatism and strength; ways that had ripped her away from an assumed happiness and offered her the opportunity to have one that was real and true.

"I didn't have many friends here," Abigail admitted, the corners of her mouth turning down. "Being so highly elevated above everyone else, being the daughter of King Midas…I was approached with caution if I was approached at all. And I wasn't the most welcoming of princesses, either," she added with a shameful little laugh.

"I was spoilt and cossetted and exchanged as a prize for the head of a dragon," she told Regina. "But in Storybrooke, I was going to go to law school, Regina. And yes, my marriage, such as it was, might not have worked out but I was independent. I could do whatever I wanted."

"No, you couldn't," Regina said bluntly. "You couldn't leave town, no matter how much you might have wanted to. The curse prevented you. What you saw as independence was nothing of the sort. You were fooled into thinking it was real, but it wasn't, just like everything else."

"It **felt** real." Abigail looked at Regina intently. "And maybe…maybe that was enough."

It wasn't. Regina knew that as certainly as she knew that all the people around her were trying hard to convince themselves that everything was fine; it was why they'd come here, why they were returning to their own traditions and morals with such enthusiasm. And hadn't she done the same in Storybrooke? Pretended that it was real in the hopes that one day, it would be?

"Our friendship felt real," Abigail said, shaking Regina from her reverie. "At least, on my part it was. How about you? Or was that part of the curse as well?"

Regina didn't answer. She wasn't sure how to. After Emma left and she'd been alone with a broken heart and more emptiness than she'd known how to deal with, Kathryn Nolan had been there for her. But Regina wasn't naïve enough to think that Kathryn Nolan existed anymore. The woman in front of her now was a princess once more, allied to the very people who wanted an end to the Evil Queen, but only after she'd served her penance.

Emotional attachments were the cracks in her soul; Regina was aware of how they'd split open, making her vulnerable, making her weak. In Storybrooke, she'd always prided herself on remaining aloof, distant from the things that could harm her. But falling in love with Emma had confused everything and she had floundered painfully, taking any and all affection that was offered in an attempt to salve the pain. Somewhere along the way, friendship had happened, without her knowing and quite without her having the wherewithal to prevent it.

"Regina," Abigail said, looking carefully at the other woman. "I came here some days ago to founder an alliance with Snow White and Prince Charming. And it was I who suggested they come to you for help."

"You?" Regina gaped. "To what end?"

"They need you more than they need my father's army, or any other in this realm," Abigail stated. "You have magic, and so does Emma."

At this, Regina rolled her eyes, glancing across the room to where Emma and Henry were standing beside Snow, trying very hard to not look at one another.

"Of course," she murmured. "Magic. It's **always** about magic."

"Regina, you know as well as I do that in this land, magic is more powerful than any number of soldiers willing to lay down their lives for a king or queen," Abigail continued. "Snow and Charming were resistant at first, but they didn't know you like I did in Storybrooke. And even if our friendship was a fabrication, part of the curse, it felt real and that…"

She paused, heaving a sigh as Regina looked at her carefully, searching for duplicity and finding none. Finding only the open, trusting features of the woman she'd duped into caring for her, like she'd fooled everyone else into thinking she was nothing more than the town Mayor.

"Well, maybe that was enough, too," Abigail mustered up a faint smile. "I haven't forgotten what you did to this land, but I also haven't forgotten who you were in Storybrooke, either. Being there changed all of us. I saw that; I saw you and Emma together there. So if I can change for the better, then so can you. Because I don't think you had many friends here in this world or in Storybrooke."

"I…" Regina started, then swallowed over a different kind of lump that rose in her throat: one that taunted her with what might have been, should they have stayed in Storybrooke and never, ever come back here. Finally, she nodded curtly and looked away from Abigail's piercing gaze. "No, I didn't," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the clamor of the crowd.

"Well," Abigail nodded firmly, "you did then, and you do now. Whether you choose to believe it's real or not."

The watery smile that passed over Regina's lips trembled as she blinked back the sudden rush of emotion prickling behind her eyes. The hostility of the room, assaulting her from all sides, seemed to fade away in light of the benevolent smile that Abigail gave her and it was all too much, too great for her to quantify or expect or allow herself to feel.

"Well," Abigail gathered her skirts and bowed her head a little towards Regina. "I should go and make myself seen, as is my duty." She let out a dismissive sigh, rolling her eyes. Coming back here hadn't presented quite the welcome prospect that was being celebrated tonight, and it was the memory of Storybrooke that haunted Abigail these days, not the life she'd been born into.

It was only after she'd swished away that Regina took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She'd always thought she had the answers to everything; had designed a new life and a new town to suit her fervent, vengeful wants. But her needs? They had been met without her even being aware of them, in so many different ways that she couldn't help wondering if Fate hadn't abandoned her, after all. Because her friendship with Kathryn _had_ been real. And Regina hadn't even realized until right now.

XxxXxx

It was late by the time Emma made her way back to the room she shared with Regina. She'd offered placatory smiles and endured the congratulations and hopes of almost every single visitor as they'd taken their leave, a growing sense of discontent seeping through her body. Her parents were in their element and she'd watched them make their farewells with the realization that this was who they were: the royals they'd been, the people who'd created her. But the desperate needs of this world enveloped her in a way of life she couldn't understand, much less participate in.

Exhaustion tugged at her as she slipped away and walked purposefully along corridors, finally coming to a halt outside the thick, oak door to their room. Henry had barely said two words to her all evening and when she'd tried to give him a halting, awkward apology, he had turned away from her and preferred instead to spend time with his grandfather.

This was all a mess, Emma thought. A stupid, pointless and uncalled for mess. All night she'd felt irritation wash through her, a tide that was kept at bay only to surge forwards with such magical strength that she'd been afraid of what havoc it might wreak within her should she succumb to it. Using her magic had become easy under Regina's instruction. Controlling it, however, was quite a different story. If it was linked to emotion, as Regina kept telling her, then Emma would have to learn to hurt less, care less, _feel_ less.

The only problem with _that_, she sighed, as she reached for the handle to the door and twisted it, was that she simply didn't know how. Didn't know if she could.

Creeping inside the room, Emma closed the door behind her and leaned against it. The chamber was dimly lit by the fire in the grate and a lantern over by the window. She took a few paces forwards, wondering if Regina would even be here before she saw the figure sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire.

Regina made a striking contrast to the woman who had appeared in the Great Hall below. She was wearing nothing but her nightgown, loose and flowing; her hair, previously swept up onto her head was now hanging over her shoulders and she was staring into the flames, seemingly lost in contemplation.

It was only when Emma dropped into the chair opposite Regina's that she saw how tense the other woman was, how she'd probably been alerted to Emma's presence from the second she started down the corridor leading to their room. Whatever was between them, whatever magic they shared or elicited in one another, it had made them painfully sensitive to the other. It was as though by sharing their magic, by letting it connect in the way it had and merge together to create something new, it had formed an invisible bond that would always trickle through their senses and urge them to reach towards the other.

Except, Emma sighed, kicking off her boots and wriggling out of her jacket, it didn't much look like Regina wanted to reach for her now. Or at _all_, given the way she'd pointedly avoided Emma all night.

"Is Henry…?" she ventured quietly.

"Asleep," Regina answered without looking at Emma. "He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. I'm afraid all of this is a little too much for him."

"Yeah, not just for **him**," Emma muttered under her breath, stretching out her legs and realizing just how draining this entire situation had become.

Now Regina looked at her, firelight casting a yellow gleam over her features, catching the light in her eyes and making them bright. She gazed at Emma for a long moment, long enough to make the blonde shift in her chair and look away, ashamed.

"I **am** sorry, you know," she mumbled. She bit at her lower lip and cursed herself inwardly; words had never really been her forte and the ones she could find were woefully inadequate to fully express how she felt right now. Pushing a hand through her hair, Emma let out an unsatisfied grunt and frowned. "I didn't want to hurt you. I just – I didn't know how to – "

"When I was a child," Regina cut in, turning her head to stare back into the fire, "the only thing I knew about magic was how it could be used to control others. To control **me**. My mother had great power, like you."

She shivered even as the heat of the fire crept towards her across the hearth, and clasped her hands together in her lap. "But it made her cruel and unforgiving. Those who refused to do her bidding were forced into it against their will. I spent most of my childhood promising to be good so that she wouldn't need to punish me. So that," Regina turned her head to meet Emma's querulous gaze, "I might deserve her love and not her disappointment."

"Regina," Emma said, leaning forwards to rest her elbows on her knees, peering at the other woman, "I'm **not** your mother. What happened today was…it was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it."

"No, you shouldn't!" Regina's voice was brittle.

"I'm **sorry**, okay?"

"I have no doubt that you are, dear," Regina glowered. "Just as I have no doubt that you'll be able to smooth things over with Henry. Eventually," she added.

"God…Henry," Emma breathed. "Does he hate me? I mean, he could barely look at me all night."

Regina snorted gently. "You're his mother, Emma. And the love a child has for a parent never goes away, no matter how much we might wish it would." She looked down at her hands, shaking her head sadly. "He doesn't hate you, but you need to make sure he doesn't learn to fear you, fear your power."

"**Fear** me?" Emma echoed, eyes flying wide open. "He's got nothing to be afraid of – not from me! I'd **never** hurt him!"

"Perhaps not willingly," Regina said slowly. "But I think we both know that you let your magic control you today. You let your anger control you."

"Yeah, okay, **Yoda**." Emma clenched her back teeth together, deep lines furrowing into her brow. "So I got it wrong. I said I was sorry, didn't I?"

"Apologies mean nothing unless you're committed to not making the same mistakes again," Regina warned. "And that's something I know more than a little about, dear."

"Of **course** you do," Emma spat, as Regina looked at her, taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. "You know everything about this stuff, don't you? Because nobody could **possibly** be as bad as you were, or as hurt as you were. Nobody else could possibly struggle with all of this shit as much as you, right?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all," Regina replied, shaking her head.

Emma got to her feet, pacing across the hearth and putting her hands onto the stone mantle over the fire, gripping it firmly, thankful for the solidity scraping beneath her fingertips.

"You know, I'm sick of people thinking I know how to do all of this," she growled. "I fucked up today, but that doesn't mean I'm going to turn into your mother and it sure as shit doesn't mean I'm going to treat Henry like she treated you."

She whirled around, fixing Regina with a glittering gaze. "If you think **that's** going to happen, then I'm doomed to spend the rest of my life apologizing to you for every time something pisses me off and let me tell you, right now, **everything** does! This whole stupid world and magic and god," she let out a bitter, mirthless laugh, "that party my parents threw tonight where people danced as they were deciding who should live and who should die in a war I don't even want to fight!"

Emma balled her hand into a fist and felt her fingernails digging into her palm. She felt the magic, too, bleeding out through every harsh word, every pore of her skin, every thought that entered her head. It was unstoppable, as powerful as she was defenseless against it, burning her flesh and demanding release. The mere idea that it might always be this way was unthinkable, unbearable.

She swallowed hard, audibly, and took a deep breath. Letting out it in as steady a stream as she could manage, she felt Regina's eyes on her, watchful and anticipatory.

"The way I feel about you doesn't rely on you being **good**," she forced out. "What happened today…I wasn't trying to control you, Regina. I just don't want anyone else to."

"All evidence to the contrary," Regina said quietly. "Do you know how it felt, to have you use your magic against me?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me," Emma sighed. "Or, you know, maybe we could ask all those people you cursed how it feels to have magic used against **them**." It was an unnecessary jab, one that was thoughtless and caused a flicker of hurt to shine briefly in Regina's eyes. Sighing, Emma shoved her hands into the pockets of her breeches, head dropping onto her chest. This wasn't the right way to feel better: nobody _ever_ felt better by poisoning others into suffering the way Regina had. It rankled in Emma's craw and she puffed out her cheeks, still angry but knowing that it wouldn't lead anywhere good. But as she opened her mouth, all that burned in her throat was the acid resentment that her life had taught her.

"Listen, I'm sorry you had a shitty childhood, Regina, but you're not the only one. Mine wasn't exactly a walk in the park either."

"Which was my fault, is what you're not saying, isn't it?"

Emma shrugged, knowing that she was lighting the fuse to a dangerous stack of emotional dynamite that would surely blow up in both their faces. But she was done with this; done with feeling so disillusioned with this world, with herself, with all the promises of a happy ending that had come to nothing.

"If the shoe fits," she blurted out before she had the sense to bite her tongue. "And while we're at it, if you think I could **ever** harm you or Henry then you don't know me as well as you think you do!"

"Lately, dear," Regina's voice lowered to a tone that sent a shiver of caution down Emma's spine as she rose from her chair and straightened with a regal poise, "there are times when I feel as though I don't know you at all."

"Yeah? Well just ask around, your Majesty," Emma hissed, throwing out her hands and assuming a heightened swagger. "I'm the Savior, the child of true love, sent to deliver this entire, sorry world into some kind of Shangri-fucking-La!"

"And I'm the Evil Queen, who destroyed this land and the lives of all the people in it," Regina shot back, just as hotly. "That's what magic can do, Emma. That's what magic can **make** you do. So don't imagine for one minute that I can't understand how you feel."

"Right back atcha," Emma moved away from the fireplace, towards Regina, power crackling at the end of her fingertips, making them itch. She flexed her fingers and pressed them against her thighs, shaking her head. "And I gotta say, the way things are right now, I'm looking for reasons not to just burn this whole fucking place down and be done with it."

"Because that's not who you are," Regina stated. "And it would weigh heavily on you if you did it, trust me on that. I never felt sorry for anything until…"

She paused, shoulders hitching over how difficult this all was, how she'd never had to answer to anyone or explain herself – never wanted to, either. There was no room for guilt in a heart that had turned to stone with the absence of love; no room for repentance or reason. But Henry had brought life back to the dead organ that rotted inside her chest, and Emma had breathed magic into it. Now, _all_ Regina felt were the emotions she'd held at bay for so long that she'd almost forgotten how to feel them. And they were tearing her apart, fraying at the seams of how she held herself together, undoing them inch by aching inch.

"Until what?" Emma urged, chin jerking forwards.

"Until I cared about someone other than myself," Regina answered. "And you, Emma…well, you care about everyone. But the magic only cares about you."

"Stop talking about it like that!" Emma growled. "Stop talking about it like it's some sort of thing living inside me!"

"Then why don't you stop thinking of it as some sort of television set that you can switch on and off at will?" Regina snapped. "When you're done conjuring up fripperies and milkshakes, you might want to think about all the other things you want that magic can get for you. How long will it be before what happened today is a regular occurrence? How long will it be before anyone who disagrees with what you want is prey to the powers you possess?"

"I wouldn't **do** that!" Emma protested, blonde hair flying as she shook her head wildly.

"And I once said I didn't want to hurt anyone," Regina told her, tight-lipped as her younger voice echoed in her head under Rumpelstiltskin's amused, mocking eyes. "But it happened anyway. Losing control might feel wonderful at the time, but the consequences can and will destroy you. And I – I don't want that. Not for you, Emma."

"Because you **love** me?" It came out as an accusation rather than affirmation. Hurt etched lines around Regina's eyes and Emma opened her mouth to speak, but found herself wordless because in the moment, she couldn't help but resent it; couldn't help but resent _everything_ that had brought her here.

"If you loved me," Emma heard herself say, taking another step closer to Regina, "then you'd help me. You'd use your magic with me so mine doesn't get out of control; you would have stopped me this afternoon. Don't tell me you couldn't have, if you'd wanted to."

And there it was: the powder keg that she'd been inching towards ever since patience had fled from her mind like she'd fled from their room earlier on in the day. Without patience to stem the tide, there was only a fetid determination to goad Regina that she simply couldn't stop. In the darkest recesses of her mind, Emma feared that she didn't really want to. So it was with a faint chill of gleeful anxiety that she saw Regina turn to her now, eyes darkening to pitch.

"If I'd wanted to, then yes, I could have stopped you," Regina said in a silken tone. She closed the gap between them until her body was almost touching Emma's and a cold smile spread across Regina's lips. "Believe me, dear, if I'd wanted to, I could have had you writhing in agony on the floor, wishing you'd never lifted your hand to me at all."

It was said with such simplicity, such certainty. It was bold and unrelentingly confident, and belonged, Emma knew, to another version of Regina, from another time, another place. But it resonated inside her chest and for all her stalwart defiance, Emma couldn't help bending towards it. If this was the Evil Queen, the woman with whom she'd clashed so many times in Storybrooke, then perhaps it was destiny that had thrown them together this way, wrapped in magic and love and a desire that spread suddenly throughout Emma's entire body.

"Then why didn't you?" Emma's voice was grated, hoarse, and the air around them seemed to spark, tinder-dry and threatening to burst aflame. "Why **don't** you?" she challenged.

"Because your mother asked me to teach you what I know. And what I know, Emma, is that we learn from what we feel and experience. Evil isn't born, dear; it's made. And what Rumpelstiltskin and my mother made me was something I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy."

"They made you powerful, though," Emma breathed, reveling in the closeness of Regina, how it overwhelmed anything and everything else, tasting the other woman's magic in the same way she wanted to taste her skin, her flesh, her body. "They made you strong, so nobody could hurt you."

Their eyes met, held, and Regina shook her head slowly. "That's not true at all. And magic…it makes you feel like you're invincible, but that feeling isn't real. Don't allow the power you have to convince you otherwise."

"Then **teach** me," Emma pleaded, finally reaching out and touching Regina, fingers closing over the other woman's arms. "Teach me **everything**. I want to know everything – even the bad stuff – even the stuff you're afraid of. Please, Regina, you're the only person who can."

Emma's grip tightened imperceptibly and Regina swayed a little beneath it as magic traced a deeper caress over her body. Using magic for her own gain had become instinctual, in the end; the only way to get whatever she wanted. Now it was the only thing standing between her and all she needed. A necessary evil, she thought grimly to herself, even as she felt the seductive tendrils of power winding around her senses, pulling her towards Emma, always.

"Please," Emma whispered, as Regina's eyes fluttered shut and she allowed herself to be drawn into a desperate embrace. "You have to give into it and help me, Regina. Be the woman I know you are – the woman I fell in love with."

As Emma's arms curled around her, Regina couldn't help wondering if, after all her efforts to leave this world and the woman she'd been behind, it had always been fated to catch up with her in the end. If this – this magic that bound her and Emma together and also sought to insinuate itself between them – wasn't what she truly deserved.


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14

Waking up beside another body every morning was an experience that still momentarily confused Emma. In as much as she found an uncommon comfort in the warmth and solidity of Regina's presence, there was always a split second where the years of loneliness would spark unfamiliarity into Emma's brain. All the beds she'd left, or the people she'd unceremoniously ejected from dingy hotel rooms – never her own apartment – had given her solitude. But that had quickly become isolation, a separation from the intimacy that Emma fooled herself meant something in the heat of passionate encounters that were, ultimately, empty.

But _every_ liaison with Regina had been meaningful; her brain had recognized that even before her senses caught up with it. Before her heart had fully understood the ramifications of the way they clashed, provoked and fought one another. And every morning when she opened her eyes, Emma drifted from confusion to clarity in a flurry of memories that culminated in the tangle of limbs, arms wrapped around her waist, head on her shoulder and the unmistakable scent of the other woman.

It had become something that Emma knew she couldn't be without. Not anymore. And all the years where she'd rejected and feared it lay behind her now. Because in her waking moments, all that she'd survived without rushed in to greet her and made her move instinctively towards, not away from someone else.

Squinting in the daylight streaming in through the window, Emma shivered. Only then did she realize that they were both naked underneath the blankets heaped on top of them. As she attempted to extricate herself from the body clinging to her own, Emma frowned; since they'd come to Fairy Tale Land – and despite her longing to sleep with Regina's skin against her own – they'd always worn something in bed: Emma opting for her makeshift pajamas and Regina in her shroudlike nightgown. It had become routine, begrudgingly so on her part, but a routine nonetheless that spoke to the changes this world had forced upon their lives.

As she shifted in the bed, Emma heard Regina murmur something and felt the arms around her waist tighten imperceptibly. She stopped moving; Regina's leg slid between her own and Emma half-smiled before she shivered again and tugged at the blankets over their bodies. It had been a long time since she could remember waking up unclothed. Even longer since it had manifested itself, not in the heat of passion or the slither of Regina's fingers over her skin, but in the chaste closeness of proximity, like this.

"Regina," Emma whispered loudly enough for the woman against her to stir. "Regina," she said again, "wake up. It's morning."

Sucking in an audible, whistling breath, Regina nestled even closer to Emma and buried her face into the blonde's shoulder. "No, it isn't," she mumbled, refusing to open her eyes.

"Except it is," Emma told her, amused. "You've got some damn powerful magic but I doubt even you can turn day to night."

"Don't underestimate me," Regina grumbled, finally lifting her head and looking blearily into Emma's eyes. "If I wanted it enough, then – "

"Sure you could." Emma rolled her eyes, finally able to move out of Regina's embrace and she scooted back a little in the bed as the other woman rolled onto her back and blinked drowsily, staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

"I'm not wearing any clothes," Regina commented, turning her head on the pillow to frown at Emma. "And neither are you."

A somewhat smug grin spread over Emma's lips and she propped her head up on one hand, the other snaking under the covers to slide over the tiny swell of Regina's belly. "Well," she began in a prosaic tone, "sometimes, when two people love one another, they do this thing that involves being naked…"

"Very funny," Regina responded, a grim expression tugging at her mouth. "May I remind you that we're in your mother's castle and nudity, while very nice, dear, might not be the most appropriate impression to make."

"It's not like I was planning on going down for breakfast like this," Emma huffed a little under Regina's glare of reprove, returning it with something that shone rather less playfully in her eyes. "Since when did you become such a prude?"

Regina let out a deep sigh, plucking at the blankets as Emma's hand disappeared from her skin and the blonde pursed her lips doubtfully.

"It's not about being a prude, Emma," Regina said.

"Then what is it?" Emma growled, less than enchanted with the way this morning was starting. "So we slept naked, so what? Everyone knows we're together. I don't see what the problem is."

Now Regina narrowed her eyes, looking at Emma curiously before her lips parted and she lifted her head from the pillow, leaning towards the blonde.

"You…you don't remember last night?"

Emma's brow crinkled and she shrugged dismissively. "We did some magic," she said carelessly. "You taught me that thing with the uh…with the fireballs and then made me stop because you were afraid I'd burn the castle down."

She was on the verge of laughing at the memory when Regina's hand reached out and gripped her shoulder, fingers digging into her flesh.

"You really don't remember any more than that?"

"Um…no?"

There was a look of such clueless innocence on Emma's face that Regina felt a tiny flutter of fear in her chest. When she shivered, it had nothing to do with the early morning chill in their room. Because her memories of the preceding night were engraved in stark pictures that formed in her head, so when she frowned at Emma and the blonde shrugged again, shaking her head, Regina knew that there was only one of them who could recall the magic. Only one of them who could remember what came afterwards, too.

"I taught you how to cast fire," Regina said slowly, "but we didn't stay here, Emma. We went into the Enchanted Forest."

"At night?" Emma said incredulously. "What – why – I mean…**why**?"

"You wanted to keep your magic away from this place," Regina answered. "And, I suspect, mine as well."

Emma shook off Regina's hand and moved back in the bed a little bit more. Searching her memory with a frantic, rising panic in her chest, she realized that she remembered nothing. The back of her neck ached like she had the beginnings of a hangover, but she merely assumed it was because Regina had pushed her magic further than before. Other than that, she'd come to the conclusion that they had gone to bed too tired to wear nightclothes. But she could tell from the way Regina was frozen in the bed, staring at her with wide, dark eyes that what she remembered wasn't the full story. Maybe not even half of it.

"I…I don't remember," Emma whispered, her lips feeling numb. She gazed at Regina for a few long moments before throwing back the blankets and reaching for her tank top, lying on the floor beside the bed. Pulling it over her head, she grasped her breeches and tugged them up her legs, hopping away from the bed and Regina's naked body as though it was anathema to her.

"Why don't I remember?" she said aloud, pacing the cold floor across the room to the window. Pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, Emma closed her eyes and rubbed at the niggling pain that was starting to form over the bridge of her nose. But her mind was blank; if she thought hard enough, she could still feel the cold fire in her palm and the elation that making it had given her. But beyond that…there was nothing.

"Regina, why don't I remember?" Emma asked in a harsh tone, whirling around from the window and looking towards the bed where Regina lay, silent and contemplative. She could see a muscle tick high up on Regina's cheek, her jaw hardening and her lips twitching slightly, but still no explanations were forthcoming.

"Regina!" Emma cried out, curling her hands into fists down by her sides and wincing as her headache began to make itself known in more painful, prickling ways inside her skull.

"I don't **know**, Emma." When Regina spoke, her voice was as strained as her features and she sat up in the bed, curling her arms around her knees and hugging them against her body.

"You were with me," Emma said, jabbing a finger towards Regina. "What did we do? What happened? What happened to **me**?"

The barrage of questions hit Regina one by one and she flinched beneath them all, under the accusatory tone of Emma's voice and the realization that the woman she'd allowed to lead her into the dark, lush forest didn't even remember being there. Didn't remember what they'd done; what Regina had taught in half-whispered confessionals of the ways to employ and bend magic to one's will.

Emma marched forwards before coming to a halt in the center of the room, agitation whirling around her brain and heightening every breath she took, trembling its way down her spine. She swallowed hard, her throat tightening, head pounding.

"Tell me," she demanded. "Tell me what happened."

_Emma knows that Regina isn't fully committed to it. She can tell from the way the other woman looks at her, the way her nostrils flare in silent refusal. But there's no going back now, not when Emma has begged and cajoled and urged Regina to teach her what remains unknown._

_There are halfhearted attempts at tuition, some failures and some successes. But in the confines of their bedchamber, Emma grows frustrated with the former and ignores the latter. By the time the castle has fallen silent and the last few remaining courtiers have taken their leave, a quiet has descended over the battlements and the approach road below. Flaming torches are extinguished and an encroaching darkness creeps up aged stone to linger outside their window as Emma summons up a yellow ball of fire that sputters in her palm before it, too, fades away to a mere glow over her skin._

"_More," she demands, looking at Regina with bright eyes, gleaming with the magic that is running rampant through her veins. "I want to do more."_

"_We're in your mother's palace," Regina responds. She's noticed how Emma's skin is flushed, how her eyes have that golden tinge and how her hands shake when she lifts them to perform magic. "If she knew that we were performing magic in her home - "_

"_So, somewhere else, then," Emma butts in hastily before spying Regina's mouth, still open in protest. _

"_Look," she flexes her fingers before curling them into a fist, fingernails digging into her palms, "I know you think we shouldn't use magic here, and maybe you're right. So let's not. Let's do what we did before and go to the forest."_

"_Now?" Regina blinks rapidly, startled both by the suggestion and the vehemence with which it's thrown towards her._

"_Sure," Emma nods and shrugs, shoving her hands into the pockets of the breeches she's still wearing, having cast aside her decorative, ceremonial coat. Magic swells inside her, giving her an assumed confidence, making her believe that any dangers lurking outside the castle walls pose no threat to her. Not when she's feeling so unutterably strong and power is making her heartbeat race._

"_I don't think that's a good idea," Regina begins hesitantly, but Emma darts forwards and stands so close that Regina recoils from the waves of power coming off the blonde. She's become more sensitive to Emma's magic – especially since they started combining their powers – but along with the desire to indulge it in and succumb to its seduction, there's also the notion that she should distance herself from it._

_That doesn't seem like a possibility, however. Emma pulls her hands from her breeches and puts them onto Regina's shoulders, her thumb stroking a line down the other woman's neck. _

"_Come on," Emma grins. "It's a __**great**__ idea."_

"_We'd need horses and…and the castle has gone to bed, Emma. As we should." Regina is surprised at how unconvincing her protestations are; how the taste of Emma's magic is on her tongue and creeping over her skin like a mist of seduction. As she looks into eyes that glisten with a color made of pure light, Regina knows she's weakening. That Emma's needs and wants are greater than her own. That perhaps Emma's powers might be as well._

"_We don't need horses," Emma murmurs, and her thumb makes its way towards the pulsing heartbeat that flutters at the base of Regina's neck, pressing briefly onto it as the blonde smiles. "You can take us there, can't you? With magic?"_

Emma frowned and shook her head at Regina's halting explanation. She vaguely remembered the fire, the way Regina was reluctant to teach her, but not much more after that. Had she really asked for Regina to use magic on them both? To take them away from the relative safety of her mother's palace and into the depths of a forest where god knows what was hiding? It seemed foolhardy, at best, even if magic was their protection.

"Why can't I remember that?" she asked, as Regina looked back at her, seeming very small in the corner of the huge bed.

"I don't know, dear," Regina answered. And she didn't. In fact, the harsh light of day pouring in through the window threw everything into shadow; the entire night they'd left behind looming up through the darkness that lurked, it would appear, in what magic had brought to them both.

Emma ran a hand through her hair and let out an aggravated breath, clenching her back teeth together. Her head was throbbing now, and she rubbed her palm across the back of her neck before pinching high up on her nose in an effort to stem the pain. It didn't work.

"And what then?" she sighed. "You took us to the forest and…what? We did magic?"

"We did…" Regina began, then stopped. It was a moment before she inclined her head, avoiding Emma's piercing gaze and resting her chin onto her knees. "**You** did magic."

"What does **that** mean?" Emma jerked her chin forwards.

"You really don't remember, do you?" A frown burrowed between Regina's brows and she felt unsettled, uncomfortable with what had transpired between them that only she could recall. Because, when all was said and done, magic was having its way with Emma whether Regina tried to help her control it or not.

"No, I really don't," Emma grunted. "So what happened next?"

_The purple mist is barely cleared before Emma is spinning around with a gleeful expression on her face. She looks up at the sky overhead, glittering with night stars that she seems to catch in her eyes as they sparkle in the night that falls like silence around them. They're in a clearing, somewhere in the Enchanted Forest. Somewhere, Emma knows, that nobody can see them or find them or hear them. That knowledge alone strikes a pang of euphoria into her chest and she feels somehow gratified to know that she and Regina are alone. Because it feels like they never are, these days. Like everyone and everything is watching them and judging them and applying the outdated rules of this world to what they are._

"_That was…awesome!" she laughs delightedly, turning to Regina and grasping the other woman's hand. "You really are something, you know?"_

_There's a somewhat disconsolate expression on Regina's features that, luckily, the darkness around them hides from Emma. By the time the blonde has drawn her close and put her arms around Regina's waist, that look is replaced by something more appropriate. Something that won't give Emma cause for concern or ruin Regina's fetid desire to please her._

"_You're gonna have to teach me that trick," Emma says softly, nuzzling into the hollow beneath Regina's ear and nipping at the skin there with her lips. "If I can just poof myself from one place to another, I might not even miss my bug so much. Who needs cars, right?"_

_She lets go of Regina and takes a few paces backwards, throwing out her arms and leaning back to look up at the sky again. Taking in a few deep breaths, Emma lets them out in between low, conceited laughs of pleasure. Her head is swimming as she closes her eyes and lets the magic rush through her, wanton and uncontrollable and without any of the control that she knows she probably should exercise over it._

"_Indeed." Regina's voice seems dampened by the night, or by something Emma can't quite discern. The smile on her face freezes as she sees the other woman, a silhouette in the pale light of the moon overhead, and she knows that something's wrong._

"_Hey," she says, reaching out towards the shadowy figure in front of her, "this is okay. I'm okay. I just feel better when we're not…not __**there**__, you know?"_

"_I know."_

"_When it's just you and me, I feel like I'm safe. You won't let me hurt anyone. You won't let the magic take over."_

_Emma knows that it's more of a plea than a statement, but she says it anyway, just to be sure. Because the truth of the matter is that if she's out in the open, rather than in the confines of her mother's castle, there aren't people who are in danger from her powers. And Regina is the only person who can possibly understand that, or defend herself from whatever is seeping out of Emma like her very own life's blood. It's a part of her now – Emma knows that as much as she knows that Regina is the only one she can bear to be around most of the time. Regina is a part of her, too. And maybe that's why being out here fills her with the sort of certainty in her own strength that she simply can't afford to feel when she's behind battlements and the stone walls that keep her in. She knows what prison feels like and even though she's a princess in this land, the castle where her parents reside has begun to feel more like a jail cell, a long sentence stretching out beyond her in this realm._

_It's a difficult reality to be faced with: learning to hate that which has always been presented as freedom and a happy ending. But Emma knows that Fairy Tale Land isn't _that_ for many of those who were returned here. And certainly not for her._

_Turning her hand palm up, Emma creates a fireball that flickers and spits out sparks as it sits in her hand. She chortles with glee and looks over towards Regina, who is watching her with a quiet reticence that is patient and fearful all at the same time._

"_God, I didn't know it could feel this good," Emma says, the firelight in her hand reflecting yellow and orange in her glassy gaze. "It's like I just have to think about what I want and – "_

"_And it happens," Regina cuts in. She can't help thinking of all the times she's relied on that fire to quell others, to burn the will right out of them, to make them submit. Emma's power is as vibrant as the flame itself; as masterful and wicked, too. Regina knows the cost of scorched earth and she takes a step towards Emma as the blonde throws the fireball up into the sky where it explodes into a shower of sparks that fall back to earth as rose petals, transformed._

"_Did you see that?" Emma shouts, her voice echoing back from the cluster of trees around the edge of the clearing. "Look what I did!"_

"_Keep your voice down!" Regina hisses, looking around the clearing and squinting into the dense trees. "There are ogres in these woods. Their hearing is what guides them towards their prey."_

"_Ogres," Emma scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. Magic buzzes in the back of her brain and makes her bold, makes her stand tall and look at Regina with something like scorn. "They mess with us, they'll be fried ogres, right?"_

_She cocks her head onto one side as Regina moves next to her, a tentative hand resting on her shoulder that only serves to intensify the magic soaring and crackling through her synapses. Emma sways slightly and stumbles; were it not for Regina's hand grasping more firmly at her, she might have fallen._

_She laughs a little, foolish and indulgent. Sometimes it feels good to lose control, she thinks._

"_Go over there," Emma says, flinging a hand out across the clearing. "Let's fight – do the pushing thing again."_

"_I didn't bring us out here for combat," Regina tells her sharply, the hand on Emma's shoulder snatched away, diluting the potency of the magic rush that still has Emma in its clutches._

"_Combat," Emma snorts. "We're going to war, Regina. You're going to have to fight sooner or later. Might as well be with me."_

"_Don't you think we've done enough fighting?"_

_Emma laughs again, but this time it's derisive and she wanders around in a circle before facing Regina once more._

"_Sometimes that's all there is," she says in a hard tone. "You should know that better than anyone."_

"_What I know, Emma," Regina says quietly, "is that magic won't make you feel any better. You're angry at your parents; you're angry at this world, at being here. Don't mistake using magic as a way of solving your problems."_

"_I'm starting to think that the only mistake I made was in thinking __**you**__ could help me with this," Emma spits. She stamps her feet on the ground, letting out a sigh that gusts into a mist in front of her face before it dissipates into the night air. She's angry now, and Regina almost thinks she can see it shimmering around the blonde's form as it blends with the magic to create an unstable aura of discontent._

"_I mean, who the hell __**are**__ you?" Emma turns on Regina, jaw hard and unrelenting. "All the things you can do with magic – all the things you can help __**me**__ do. But you're afraid, aren't you?"_

"_I'm afraid of what magic might take from you. What it took from me. Look at yourself, Emma. You can barely stand!"_

_Even as she staggers under the sheer force of the power, under how it thrums beneath her skin and resonates with the anger that threatens to overwhelm her completely, Emma grits her teeth and lifts her hands. Because Regina is better than this; the fairytales she's read in Henry's book have told her so. And what she needs right now isn't this shadowed creature who is fearful and hesitant. No; what Emma needs is the Evil Queen: a woman who made magic her slave and all those who defied her its victims. Strength, Emma thinks as she stretches out her fingers, is all there is, however it might manifest itself._

_The magic leaps from her fingertips before her thought is finished. It rushes towards Regina and hits her square in the center of her chest. Reeling back, there's a look of unmitigated horror on the other woman's features and deep down, Emma knows she should feel guilty. Should feel responsible. Should acknowledge and accept a host of different things that the magic smothers and weakens._

_But all she feels is triumphant. Powerful. Almost like being in control of the fraying edges of her life, gathering up the strands and weaving them into another bolt of magic that flies towards Regina and pushes her backwards again._

_This might not be the way. But it is _a_ way._

"_Stop it!" Regina is breathless, gasping over the words as she presses her hands to her solar plexus. "Anger is weakness…it lets the magic take over…"_

"_Yeah?" Emma rounds on Regina, teeth bared and gleaming in the moonlight. "Well maybe I'm sick of having to control everything. Maybe I'm sick of having magic and being angry and feeling things I shouldn't have to. So let's get this over with. Fight me. __**Now**__, Regina."_

_There's a wildness to her voice that rises to a frantic pitch. Regina doesn't move until a fireball explodes by her feet and she can feel its heat on her legs. Defensive magic was always contained in the knowledge that, save for Rumpelstiltskin, there was nobody in this land more powerful than her. She'd seen to that by ridding herself of enemies until there was no one left to oppose her. _

_And now, Emma. The child born from true love's magic who was being consumed by it, seemingly in front of her very eyes. As Emma advances, Regina knows that any hopes for a life here are as empty as the existence she'd left behind. Because magic, in the end, will destroy them both – almost had destroyed her._

"_I have to get this out of me!" Emma hisses, as another fireball lands close to Regina's feet, another thrust of magic thuds against her shoulder, making her stumble. "I don't want it – I don't want any of it!"_

_Invisible bonds contract around Regina's upper arms, pinning them against her sides. She knows that she could break them, break Emma, but there's something alien in the blonde's eyes that Regina understands will refuse to listen to reason. And as Emma bears down on her, there's the understanding that what the Savior needs is greater and more insistent than anything Regina might want. She looks into Emma's face and sees it contorted in the sort of anguish that makes her heart ache. And she knows, she _knows_ that capitulation is the only thing that might save them both._

"_Why won't you fight back?" Emma growls, as Regina falls to her knees and the magic that restrains her tightens around her arms._

"_I won't fight you," Regina forces out, feeling dizzy, weak, all the things she used to when she was younger. "I'll fight __**for**__ you until the end of time, Emma. But not against you. Not anymore."_

"_I __**need**__ you to," Emma reaches out and grabs a fistful of Regina's hair, forcing her head back on her neck. "I need you to be stronger than I am."_

"_I love you," Regina whispers, as pain prickles over her scalp and she squeezes her eyes shut. "Love is strength – isn't that what you always told me?"_

"_I told you a lot of things," Emma whispers, her breath hot on Regina's ear, voice buzzing almost as vibrantly as the magic that Regina can feel skidding over her skin. "But __**strength**__ is strength. Power. Magic."_

_Regina can't speak. Can barely move against the magical bonds around her. Emma's fingers trickle over her neck, tracing a line that feels like a knife's blade and she swallows under the sensation, sharp and dangerous. Like Emma is._

"_Take us back. Back to the castle."_

"_Your lesson…the magic…" Regina grinds out, and Emma smiles wolfishly at her, their faces inches apart._

"_Enough lessons," Emma's voice grates over the words. "I don't want them anymore."_

"_What do you want?" Regina asks even though she knows. She feels it in every swipe of Emma's fingertips over her throat, every heated breath that floods over her cheeks. So when Emma laughs, low and dangerous, Regina can't help but feel the sympathy of her love shiver into something more, into desire and the lust for everything Emma is, even now, even like this._

"_I want __**you**__. Take us back. Now."_

Regina's voice faded away as she finished recounting the night. Emma's eyes were fixed on her face, wide in horror, glittering with unshed tears. Hunched beneath the blankets, Regina drew in a shuddering breath as the blonde rose up from the bed, backing away with a hand clamped over her mouth, fingers trembling.

"I don't – I can't remember **any** of that," Emma whispered loudly, shaking her head. "It didn't happen. Tell me it didn't happen."

"I can't do that," Regina said evenly, although her chest was tight as she finally moved, pushing back the covers and sliding her legs over the side of the bed.

"But I used magic on you – against you!" Emma blurted, screwing her balled up hand into her forehead. "Is this normal? Not being able to remember what the hell I'm doing or who I'm doing it to?"

"I don't know," Regina said, turning to reach for her robe and freezing when she heard the ragged gasp from behind her back. "Magic isn't a science. It affects everyone differently."

"Shit," Emma said, close to Regina, her fingers grasping the other woman's shoulders and pushing her forwards a little. "Fuck…Regina…**look** at yourself!"

It was a moment before Regina stared down at her arms, a second before her gaze drifted down to her legs. There were marks on her skin, rounded bruises that were beginning to turn purple: a deep, rich color in the shape of fingers that had pinched at her flesh. Emma had been rough. But it was only now, in the cold light of day, that both women realized how much and to what extent.

"Did I do that?"

Regina shook Emma's hands from her shoulders, snatching up her robe and putting it on hastily. Once the belt was firmly tied around her waist, she turned to look at Emma, trying not to notice how disgust was tugging at the blonde's features.

"Emma," she said as gently as she could, "you weren't yourself last night, and – "

"Not myself?" Emma's head jerked back on her neck and her lips turned down in revulsion. "It looks like you were attacked by a…a monster!"

"It was what you needed."

"No," Emma spat, shaking her head more vehemently and backing away from Regina, hands held up in front of her like a defense, a barrier against what she was capable of. "The time for hurting each other is over, do you hear me? It's over!"

"Better you hurt me than someone else, or yourself," Regina told Emma. There was a quiet calm to her voice and her features that only intensified Emma's sense of alarm and she stumbled away from Regina, from the sight of her violent selfishness and the detritus of what she'd clung to in the hopes that it might stabilize her.

It didn't. It hadn't. And Regina's willingness to accept it as a part of who they'd become roiled in her gut, nausea bursting a watery rush into her mouth.

"Why didn't you stop me?" Emma almost choked over the sob that rose in her throat, swelling it painfully. "Why didn't you stop me doing this to you?"

It was almost accusatory, lost in the pitiful plea that came from her lips and if she were able to rationalize it, then Emma might not have allowed the sliver of blame in her head to force the words out of her mouth. But she couldn't understand how Regina – the Evil Queen – wouldn't stop her; how someone in possession of such great power would fail to use it to protect themselves. Even against her.

"How could you let me?" she urged.

"Because you **needed** it," Regina said, lifting her chin and staring rather haughtily back at Emma. "Because whatever it was inside you – your magic – you needed to let it out more than I needed you to stop."

Emma shook her head. "No," she growled. "That's not how this works. It's not how adult relationships work, Regina. Don't you even fucking **know** that?"

Regina blinked, impassive, wrapping her arms around her torso.

"We don't hurt each other," Emma said grimly. "Not anymore. This thing in me, Regina, it's not a gift. It's not good. It's a corruption. It's making me do things that I shouldn't and you can't let me – you can't let **anyone** do that to you. I…I love you – "

"And that's why I didn't stop you!" Regina forced out, arms tightening. "I love you too and whatever happens, that won't change. It was what you needed – needed from me. **That's** love, Emma. **That's** what I could give you last night."

"That's sick," Emma said firmly, swallowing over the bile burning at the base of her throat. "And if you think that letting me hurt you is going to make anything better then you're wrong. You're not a sacrificial lamb, no matter what world we're in."

Regina laughed quietly, a brittle sound that hummed over her lips as she drew them into a tight line. As Emma had pinned her to the bed, fingers as hard as her eyes, Regina had wondered if this wasn't her recompense; if it wasn't her destiny to be loved by people who would always have the capacity and will to punish her. If it wasn't, somehow, the only understanding of love she'd ever experience. As she'd lain in bed and felt her body respond to Emma's touch, magic marking her flesh as much as Emma's caresses did, Regina had accepted that this was deserved, earned, ratified in all that she'd done and cursed and willed upon the unforgiving.

Guilt, however, was the worst curse of all. She knew that now. And even as it etched lines into Emma's features, Regina felt it keenly inside her own chest. Because the marks on her body would fade and disappear completely. But the marks that love – feeling it, losing it, finding it again – had left on her soul were indelible, drawn in scars that wouldn't _ever_ fade. It was her own unique cross to bear, one that she shouldered in isolation and struggled under every single day; one that was becoming heavier.

"I love you, Emma," Regina said. It was all she had to offer now. And wasn't love sacrifice? Wasn't it putting the needs of someone else above her own, no matter how they manifested themselves? But the words drew angular lines over the blonde's face and she shifted on the stone floor, lip curling.

"Not like this," she told Regina. "That's not love and neither is this…this **magic**. It's wrong. It's all so wrong. When I woke up this morning and you were…Jesus, Regina, you were holding me like nothing had happened. Like you used to before I had magic."

"I was happy to be with you," Regina said gently. "You make me happy, Emma." It was a paltry explanation of the difficulties that had brought them here; a woeful confession of the fact that her love for Emma wouldn't go away, no matter how much the blonde hurt, grasped, squeezed affection out of her.

"I hurt you last night," Emma snarled. "Acting like you're grateful for it is…it's not right, Regina. It's not how this works. Not how…not how we work."

Not for the first time in recent weeks, Emma felt a pang of longing for Storybrooke, for the normalcy that existed there. Where a future had been taken from her as surely and irrevocably as the one mapped out for her from birth in this land. She felt displaced, detached, horribly alone. And the one thing that had always offered her succor was now marred with the broken will that Emma herself had inflicted. No; that wasn't love. It was surrender.

For all the strength they possessed between and within them, for all the magic that connected them and held them in its grasp, Emma had never felt more weak and insignificant in her entire life.


	15. Chapter 15

Part 15

The encampment was a huddle of different-sized tents, each bearing a royal standard at their center that fluttered in the breeze coming off the side of the hill. Beyond the makeshift station where soldiers thrust and parried, where armaments were gathered and plans were finalized, the hill fell away down a steep valley towards a shining river that ran through the center of the kingdom, almost dividing it. It glittered in the sunshine today, and there were times when Emma had to shield her eyes when the light caught the ripples made by fish, or birds swooping low over the water's surface.

It was idyllic, really. Or _should_ have been. Under any other circumstances, Emma was sure that she'd have found the place calming; peaceful.

But not today. Not since Midas' army moved into the area and began setting up their camp. Not since the air was filled with the sound of metal clanking against metal rather than birdsong. Squinting up at the tops of the trees that edged the forest, Emma couldn't help wondering if all the birds had scattered from their nests as humans had invaded their habitat. And, she kicked at the turf beneath her feet, she couldn't really blame them.

They weren't a long way from Snow's castle, but they were far enough to prompt accompanying royal guards whose eyes swept the encampment's outer limits with a suspicious, watchful gaze. None of them were supposed to go anywhere alone now; not with George making his own preparations for war so public. He clearly intended to make a show of strength before any fighting had even begun, and both Emma and her father had frowned over the news that Ruby and Leroy brought them from the village below, delivered in a War Council to which Regina hadn't been invited.

The desire for change, it seemed, wasn't just an internal battle that was won or lost in individual strength of mind or determination. Ruby had informed them that some of the townspeople, who had lived in relative comfort back in Storybrooke, were dissatisfied with the life Fairy Tale Land offered them now. Even if they believed that George wasn't their savior, he'd almost convinced them he might stand as an attractive alternative, with grandiose schemes of a new regime in which opportunity would be available to all. And even if it wasn't the rather more egalitarian existence of a land without magic, it was _something_. Something better than what they had now.

Charming had been steadfast in his dismissal of George, claiming that the man would make a plethora of promises he didn't intend to keep and that fooling the citizens of Fairy Tale Land was tantamount to forcing them into fighting his battle for him. But Ruby had told him with a weary, anxious voice, that even if that _was_ the case, then it was working. Because there were already villagers across the region who had taken up arms to enter into whatever war was coming. And they weren't fighting for Snow and Charming; they were fighting for _themselves_.

Emma had left the tent set up as their Council Room then, unwilling to listen to any more. She couldn't. In her heart, she felt as though this was all her fault. If she hadn't stayed in Storybrooke, if she hadn't set in motion a chain of events that led to the breaking of the curse, if she hadn't loved Regina and Henry and selfishly wanted them all to be together…

The what-ifs whirled around inside her head until she was almost dizzy from them, and she slipped away behind a copse of trees just to be alone, to be away from everything and everyone that reminded her of the part she'd played in this mess. It wasn't simply a case of fighting for good, she told herself. And no matter how much her parents liked to lean on that caveat and use it to guide and justify every action, nothing about this world was starkly drawn anymore. They were all living in the nebulous, vague uncertainties of a recreated realm; one that contained all the memories of Storybrooke and none of the benefits.

Not for the first time, Emma desperately missed the town. She missed the solidity of the streets beneath her feet, the brick houses and neatly trimmed hedges, the rickety wobble of her desk in the Sheriff's office and Ruby bringing her a grilled cheese sandwich just because she was passing by.

Groaning, she rubbed the heel of her hand across her forehead and felt a dull throb behind her eyes. She'd always scoffed at the domesticity that other people seemed to prize above all else, telling herself that her own life, nomadic and lived on the fringes of society, was far more fulfilling. But the truth was that _all_ she wanted right now – all she craved and desired – was to live in a house with the woman she loved and the son they wanted to raise together, making breakfast and going to work and doing what everyone else did so routinely. The thought of being settled; the mere taste of it had only served to increase her appetite for it, and now she hungered after what she'd lost; what was now denied to her in the mire of fighting George, fighting the discontent in this land, fighting _herself_.

"Sometimes it gets a bit overwhelming, doesn't it?"

A voice made her spin round to see her father approaching cautiously through the wood, his heavy footfalls crackling leaves and twigs in the undergrowth. He smiled kindly at her and Emma returned it wanly, feeling a pang inside her chest at memories of David Nolan and how she'd barely got to know him before he was changed into someone else.

She shrugged in response and let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through her hair.

"It's still strange for you, I know that," Charming cocked his head onto one side and eyed his daughter with sympathy. "But we **are** doing the right thing, Emma. It's the only thing we know how to do."

"Killing people in a war that nobody really wants?" she intoned dully. "How is **that** the right thing?"

She leaned against a nearby tree and shoved her hands into the pockets of her breeches, feeling the sword her father had insisted she wear push uncomfortably against her legs. Charming folded his arms over his broad chest and looked at her with sympathy in his gaze. He'd struggled with hard truths before; his feelings for Mary Margaret back in Storybrooke had taken him in a direction that still caused him guilt, even though he now knew that he'd simply been following his heart – that it was wise to truths that his brain wasn't. But knowing truth and feeling betrayal clashed inside his chest and sometimes, he wondered if the man Regina had made him into wasn't a greater honesty that he was yet to accept as a part of him, at the very least.

"If we don't make a stand against George," Charming began slowly, "then he will enact a terrible vengeance on those he feels cheated him out of his birthright. He's not a good man, Emma. He's self-serving and greedy and was always more concerned with how full his coffers were than how full his heart was. We need to be strong and believe that this is our only option."

"Right," Emma huffed. "But you know what? Sometimes being strong doesn't mean beating the other guy down. Sometimes it means accepting the situation for what it is."

"And is that what you're doing, sulking out here on your own?" Charming unfolded his arms, waving a hand around the copse and looking at Emma in a way he never had before. It was a source of some discomfort to her that Charming had quickly become accustomed to the role of father, even though he was only a few years older than her, chronologically speaking.

"I'm not sulking," she said in a recalcitrant tone. The words were barely out of her mouth before she realized that she was, in fact, doing just _that_. Emma pressed her lips together as Charming shot her a dubious look and she frowned at him. None of this was his fault. She shouldn't be blaming him. But he was here and concerned and acting like her dad and honestly, she kind of resented him a little for it.

"Emma," Charming said gently, "if it's any consolation to you, then I **do** understand part of what you're going through."

As her frown deepened, he drew closer and reached out, putting his hand onto her shoulder. His grip was firm, strong and reassuring: all the things it should be. Emma felt a yearning rise in her throat for what and who he might have been had she known him as her father, raised by the sort of gentle care that was in his touch right now.

"I was a twin," he told her. "My parents made a deal with Rumpelstiltskin so that they could save our farm. And my brother…well, he became Prince James. George's son."

She blinked at him, mouth falling open in confusion. Henry's book had never told her any of this. In fact, Henry's book had only told her what she'd needed to know in order to instigate what had spiraled out of control in a haze of magic, stories and larger-than-life characters. Silently, at the back of her mind, she cursed its existence and what it had made her – and Henry – do.

"James died," Charming continued. "And Rumpelstiltskin came to me, offering another deal. To save my mother – to save our livelihood, I agreed. But I was a shepherd, Emma. I didn't know anything about being a prince, much less living like one. I struggled with it for a long time."

He sighed a little, shaking his head and squeezing her shoulder. The consternation on his face echoed with memories of what might have been should he have refused Rumple's deal. His mother might not have died too soon. He might have stayed with her and had a wife and family that didn't live under the shadow of Regina's anger and vengeance. But he might never have met Snow, either, and that thought alone was enough to send a chill of fear through his chest. For all that he'd lost and endured, fought for and against, she was his true love. And the thought of living the rest of his life without her – without _that_ – was almost too much to even contemplate, let alone imagine.

"There were times when I thought I'd made a mistake, accepting Rumple's deal," he said ruefully. "Times when I thought I just wasn't cut out to be a prince and when all I wanted was to go back to my mother's farm and look after it. Look after **her**, you know?"

Emma nodded silently. _Oh yes_, she knew alright.

"But when I met Snow…things changed. I wanted to be better, for her. For our family – **you**. I couldn't let George railroad me into doing something I didn't believe in, and I couldn't let the best thing in my life slip through my fingers without at least fighting as hard as I could for her."

He pressed his lips together in a firm line that approached a smile but didn't quite blossom fully. His hand slipped from Emma's shoulder and he stood back a little, looking at her with interest and the hopes that she might understand what he was trying to say. Because although he had faith in her, in the fact that she'd been created from the purest thing he'd ever known or felt, in his dreams the image of his daughter still haunted him. As he gazed at her now, so quiet and withdrawn, it was almost impossible to believe that something so good could be filled with the sort of bloodlust he'd seen on Emma's features in his nightmares.

"You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?" he asked gently, and a pair of troubled green eyes turned to look at him.

"I've been fighting for Regina ever since we came here," Emma finally spoke, her voice cracking over the words. "And for Henry, longer than that. For **both** of them. But going to war against someone I don't even know…that's not **my** fight. It's not **my** battle."

And it wasn't. _Her_ battle was contained in the internalized maelstrom of her relationships with people she had come to rely on for emotional stability. Henry was barely speaking to her, eyeing her with a cautious, fearful gaze. And Regina…well, Regina had clearly decided that having Emma's love – however it chose to manifest itself – was better than having nothing at all.

_No_; Emma thought grimly as she heaved another sigh and leaned back against the tree behind her. She had enough battles of her own to contend with; she didn't need the historical disagreements of her parents impinging on them too. And maybe it was selfish, maybe it was going against all the tenets that had carried her parents through this land and typified their sort of leadership, but she was damned if she was going to lose what she needed because she was distracted by affairs of state and a monarchy that, frankly, she didn't really believe in.

"Okay," Charming said evenly, folding his arms over his chest again. "But have you considered what might happen if George wins and exerts control over this realm?"

"I guess…I don't know...no, not really," Emma answered weakly. Because she really hadn't. Her opposition to this war had been rooted in the consequences of fighting people she didn't want to and who didn't deserve to die at her hand, much less that of the accumulated armies of so-called "good". She'd had little care to think beyond that, after the war had been fought and won. Or lost.

"He's not a good man," Charming repeated his assessment of his erstwhile adoptive father. "And he knows how to bear a grudge, believe me on that. So what do you think he'll do to those who stand against him? Or those he sees responsible for us coming back here in the first place?"

"What…what do you mean?" Emma shook her head, confused.

"What I mean is that he has reason to punish Snow and I for what we did to him in this land," Charming explained. "But he also has reason to punish Regina, and Henry, and you. You might be The Savior to everyone here, but that doesn't mean they all love you for it."

He hadn't wanted to tell Emma this. He'd wanted to hide it away and pretend that the rumblings of discontented villagers were just that. But, like the gray skies and thunder that were portents of an oncoming storm, he feared that rumblings had the potential to shake the very ground on which they stood into a broken realm of misery. As he watched comprehension dawn across her features, pulling them into anxious, hard lines of reality, he sighed and fervently wished that he could protect his daughter from harm, just like he'd always wanted to since he held her in his arms as a newborn.

But his daughter wasn't a child. And she wasn't _just_ his daughter. She was a woman who had lived in isolation from her birthright and the legacy that created her. Loneliness, Charming knew, was the greater curse at work here, shaping Emma with cruel hands of betrayal and lost hope. He winced over the stab of pain in his gut; how different everything might have been but for the curse that had taken them all away from here – taken them away from what they held most dear.

It was ironic and hurtful that the person responsible for all of that was, in essence, the one who had opened everyone's eyes to their lost selves. He wanted to blame Regina, to eradicate her from this world and any other so that she could never hurt anyone again. But he knew that in doing so, he would kill his daughter and her son. For better or worse, Regina occupied a place in their hearts that he knew shone bright with love. If he was to take her away, then he'd be breaking those hearts. And without them, what reason would Emma and Henry possibly have to live at all?

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Emma suddenly blurted, shaking Charming from his angry reverie. "I **never** wanted to hurt anyone," she added, the corners of her mouth turning down.

"I know, I know," Charming soothed, moving forwards again and putting his hand back onto Emma's shoulder. This time, she flinched beneath his touch and caused a frown to wrinkle his forehead.

"Being a leader means making difficult decisions," he told her, a note of authority entering his voice. "It sometimes means doing things we don't really want to. But ask yourself this, Emma: if George really **does** have power behind him and wrests control of this kingdom, then **everyone** who stands in his way will be hurt."

"I can't stop that happening. I mean, I've got all this magic but I don't want to use it to fight people or…or curse them or kill them, or whatever. You don't understand," she said in a flurry of words, heightened emotions getting the better of her, "when I get angry it…it comes out and I can't control it. Not enough, anyway."

She shook her head and looked into the kind eyes of her father, seeing for a moment how much he wanted to understand her and knowing that he never could. Not when it came to magic.

"Actually, it's worse than that. I don't **want** to control it," she whispered, a pained expression creeping over her features. "And I don't know what that might do to me – to everyone else – if I let it…if I let it out."

Charming's hand slid from her shoulder and he even took a step backwards. Emma wasn't sure what put an expression of horror onto his face, but from the way he tried so hard to hide it the instant it appeared, she knew it couldn't be anything good. And even if she wasn't fully behind the notion that this man was her father, she knew that she never wanted to see him look at her this way again. The way his eyes roamed over her features spoke of a fearful apprehension that clearly troubled him. So when she looked away, it was really more for her own sake than his; more to divorce herself from the familial rejection that she expected than to comfort him. Because her history, yawning behind her throughout years of isolation and never quite finding the love she craved, left no room for comfort. Not hers, and _definitely_ not her father's.

"I thought that Regina was helping you learn to use your magic," Charming finally said.

Emma couldn't help the mirthless laugh that trickled over her lips. "She is but…"

Her mouth formed a flat line of discontent and she shook her head, bumping her shoulders back against the firm trunk of the tree behind her. Scuffing her boot on the mossy ground, she shrugged, wrapping her arms around her body.

"This magic," she said slowly, "is making things hard. For us, I mean. For her and me outside of everything else. And I feel like…like what you want us to do means sacrificing that."

"It might feel that way but that's not how it is," Charming said adroitly. He squared his shoulders, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You wanted us to bring Regina into our family and we're trying to do just that. She's not just helping you, she's helping **us**. All of us."

"Really?" Emma questioned, looking at Charming doubtfully. "Because it feels like coercion, like you want her to prove herself. Prove that she's changed instead of you having a little faith that she actually has."

_Faith_, Charming thought to himself. It was the one thing on which he'd hung so many of his beliefs and ideals. The thing that nurtured him through hardships and separation and that had, he often suspected, guided his heart when his head had been fogged by the identity Regina's curse had forced upon him. But he'd never had any faith in Regina, only a bruised sense of betrayal and the pain that she'd inflicted upon them all.

"Emma," Charming said a little more gently, seeing the consternation and hurt on his daughter's face and feeling it ache inside his chest, "you have to try and understand that before you were born, Regina – "

"Yeah, I **know** all of that," Emma cut in sharply, glaring at him. "And while you and everyone else like to talk about making a new future here, it seems kinda ironic that you're standing here harping on about the past. So when it comes to understanding, **dad**," she spat out the word with venom and saw how it etched lines around her father's eyes, "I don't need to **try** and understand. I think I understand just fine."

Apology formed in her head and was almost on her lips before she pressed them together and fell silent. Guilt had already tracked its way through her body, weighing her down and making her relationship with Regina so tenuous and fragile. She wasn't about to let it give her further cause for pain, not when her desire to protect what she had was stronger than any duty she might feel towards her parents. Parents, she reminded herself, who had given her away to save themselves.

Maybe, she thought adamantly, it was time for her to be selfish. For the family she'd made, not the one who had brought her into this world and then sent her away almost immediately.

Charming said her name and took a couple of steps towards her, but Emma shrank away from him and shook her head vehemently. She stared at him for a long moment, wanting nothing more than to be his daughter and for him to be her father. But as she pushed herself away from the solidity of the tree, Emma knew that the time for that was gone, and that all she had now was forging ahead in her own way, just as she always had. She'd grieve over the loss later, she was sure. But for now, she wanted to be as far away from him as she possibly could, so when she turned and walked away, it was with a quickened, angry pace.

XxxXxx

There was a smile on Regina's face that Abigail had never seen before, not even when she'd thought the friendship between her alter ego of Kathryn Nolan and the Mayor of Storybrooke had fostered closeness between them. No; the way that Regina was looking at her now spoke of admiration, a newer sort of appreciation and, if she was honest with herself, then the pride that surged through Abigail's chest was more fulfilling and right than any pleasure she'd taken over Regina's visits to her house back in the other world.

Dismissing one of her father's generals and watching as he returned to his battalion, Abigail took a deep breath, letting it out again slowly. The responsibilities she'd taken in this world – fought for with a renewed sense of purpose – suited her; she'd insisted that her father allow her the opportunity to lead and he'd done so, reluctantly. But the fact that he'd done so at _all_ was indicative of the shifting traditions of this world and a past that was becoming less restrictive the longer they spent here. Returning to this land hadn't eradicated any of their memories, and it was with a begrudging resignation that Midas had treated his daughter less as a prize to be traded and more as the independent woman that Storybrooke had made her.

Change was difficult but, it seemed, inevitable. However, Abigail thought as she turned to face Regina, it came with a sense of tremulous question as to whether it was the right thing. It _felt_ right, but Abigail wasn't naïve enough to think that just because something felt that way, it meant that it actually _was_.

She returned Regina's smile with not a little hesitancy: the innocence that had typified this world before the curse was, she knew, gone forever now.

"You've taken to this rather well," Regina said.

Abigail let out a tiny laugh and rolled her eyes. "When I was offering you tea and sympathy in Storybrooke, I could never have imagined that this is where I'd end up."

"Well," Regina's smile faded and she looked away, down at the ground, "the curse…what I did took many things away from you."

"Yes, it did," Abigail agreed. But she moved forwards, linking her arm through Regina's in a simple, involuntary gesture. As they made their way from the guards' training ground back towards the cluster of tents, Abigail noticed the look of alarm that fluttered across Regina's features and she leaned in a little closer to the other woman.

"But it also gave me things, too," she added. "In Storybrooke, I learned how to exist alone, without a husband and without the domestic prison you put me into."

As Regina opened her mouth with a frown, Abigail held up her hand and bumped her shoulder against Regina's companionably.

"Look," she said, "I'm not excusing you for what you did and I can't possibly approve of it. But I **can** forgive it. I got to know you in Storybrooke, Regina. We were friends. If Emma hadn't come to town, met you and left you, I don't know that I'd ever really have understood that sometimes we have to lose things to know what they mean to us. Sometimes we have to lose things to find out who we really are."

She bent her head and peered momentarily into Regina's eyes. "Do you know what I mean?" she asked.

Regina let out a sigh as they slowed to a halt. She looked at the tents ahead, adorned with royal standards and the symbols of power that Snow and Charming had returned to with enthusiasm. It was all so wrong, she thought. All of this. Because she'd learned that nobody could ever go back; not to their lives here and not to the ones she'd conjured up, either. But the one thing she knew above all else was that she could never, _ever_ go back to a life alone. She'd gathered solitude around herself, believing that it could protect her, but she'd had to accept that the emotional armor she wore was useless against the onslaught of love, friendship, compassion.

It should have given her cause for relief. But all she felt as she finally glanced at Abigail was guilt: a horrible, crushing sensation in her chest for what she'd done and who she'd become.

"If you're trying to somehow suggest that I did you a favor, then I'm not sure I can understand **that**," she said.

"A favor?" Abigail repeated incredulously, before a surprised laugh fell from her mouth. "Regina, that's not what I'm saying at all."

She tugged at the other woman's arm and they began walking towards the tents again, navigating the gradual incline of the ground beneath their feet with a rather more forceful, strident gait.

"But I believe things happen for a reason," Abigail continued. "What you did was wrong, but some good did come of it. You found your happiness and I suppose, in a way, I found mine, too."

Regina's eyebrows rose as she considered all that had transpired in Storybrooke: Kathryn deciding that David belonged with Mary Margaret, caring for her friend's wellbeing and offering the sort of concern that Regina was sure she never had any right to ask for, let alone demand.

"You'll have to forgive me, dear," Regina murmured, "but I don't think what happened to you in Storybrooke could be termed happiness."

"Well that's where you're wrong," Abigail answered easily. "It wasn't happy for a long time, not for any of us. But there's only so far down you can sink before you have to come up for air. Before you need to move towards something better than what you have."

They reached the crest of the hill and stopped again. Breathing a little harder now, Abigail let go of Regina's arm and turned around, looking out over the view, the lush forest and the lake far below them in the valley. She sucked in a deep breath, let it out again and turned her face up to the sunshine, basking for a second in its warm glow.

"I know that you don't think that's what you did," she said, turning back to Regina. "But out of all of us, the person you hurt the most by casting the curse was you. Having Henry and Emma in your life made you want to stop hurting. It made you want to stop taking it out on everyone else as well."

Regina snorted softly. "That's a rather simplistic way of putting it."

"Maybe it is," Abigail smiled and shrugged a little, clasping her gloved hands together the gown that she'd decided was far too ostentatious and uncomfortable for the task at hand. She cast a look over Regina's attire and decided that the leather vest and riding pants that the other woman was wearing were far more suitable and functional for this world. _Another small change_, she thought. Another step towards a newer identity, even it was found in something as risible as clothing.

"Or maybe," she added, "it's a better way of looking at it."

"You're in the minority, you know," Regina commented bluntly. "Most other people think the complete opposite to the way you do."

"Well perhaps that's just another thing I've learned, then," Abigail told her. "It doesn't mean I'm wrong, does it?"

She looked carefully at the other woman, noting the careworn expression that Regina seemed to wear more often than not these days; how vulnerability had risen to the surface and quelled the composure that the Mayor of Storybrooke perfected with such clinical aptitude.

It troubled Regina and that, more than anything else, was what informed Abigail and gave her cause to hope for clarity and change. And she did so even when Regina clearly _didn't_. When the unsettled difficulty Regina felt was written across her face in broad strokes of doubt.

"I have a family now," Regina said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I have to do what's right for them."

"And for yourself," Abigail supplanted. She smiled kindly at Regina, noting how the other woman visibly flinched under the affection that was freely given to her.

"I spent a long time doing what I thought was right for myself," Regina told her. "With magic, with violence, with death. And now I'm expected to do the same thing again, but this time for the cause of good. Tell me, dear, how is that right for my family or for myself?"

Abigail sighed a little, looking down at the ground so that she could avoid the piercing gaze fixed upon her. In Storybrooke, the mere notion of going to war, of setting themselves against people they'd formerly lived with, worked with, known, was unthinkable. But since returning to Fairy Tale Land, Abigail had encountered many things that would be deemed unconscionable in the other world. She'd comforted herself with the belief that this war would be a fight to maintain good, to nurture it. But standing in front of Regina now, she wasn't so sure of her convictions. Even less so of the reasoning behind them.

"Sometimes we have to defend what we hold most dear in any way that we can," Abigail countered, but her voice was a little less confident and she frowned as she spoke.

"I'm not sure that encouraging me to use my magic or demanding that Emma use hers is the wisest course of action," Regina said sharply. "She's not in full command of her powers. She's never fought in battle before and can't possibly comprehend what that's like."

"I know," Abigail nodded, "but this is what we have to do."

"Is it?" Regina turned on the spot, looking back towards the tents where a War Council had been held without her. "She might have been born here, Abigail, but Emma is not of this world. I need more time to help her adjust."

Stepping forwards, Abigail reached out, putting her hand onto Regina's arm. "We don't have time," she said in a low voice. "King George won't listen to reason and I'm afraid that…well, there are sacrifices we all need to make."

"All of us? Really?" Regina drew back, away from Abigail's grasp, head jerking back on her neck. "Because it seems to me that the only sacrifices to be made are those that pertain to **my** family. You all appear to think that magic is some sort of ceremonial clothing to be taken out of the closet and put back again once it's served its purpose."

"Nobody – Regina, nobody thinks that," Abigail insisted, but she knew from the talk during the War Council they'd had earlier in the day that Snow and Charming saw it as precisely that. Once they'd warmed to her idea of Regina being a tactical weapon rather than a human ally, Abigail had listened to them discuss how magical powers might be put to good use on the battlefront. She'd left the meeting wishing she hadn't suggested it in the first place; that she'd never seen her attempts at inclusion turned into something that didn't quite correlate with her original intent.

Regina smiled sadly. "You make quite the convincing leader, but as a liar, you're really quite dreadful at it, dear."

A faint blush rose on Abigail's cheeks and she let out an embarrassed sigh. "Consider me still in the learning phase of both," she admitted, a rueful curve to her lips. "And I'm clearly better at one than the other."

"Yes, well, it's the lies we tell ourselves that are the most harmful," Regina told her. "And if Snow and Charming think that Emma's ready for war, then they're deluded."

"Not as much as you might think," Abigail protested. "They're worried about her too – about the magic and what it's doing to her."

Regina's eyes flew open and she stared at Abigail in surprise. "Snow talked to you about that?" she asked incredulously.

Abigail shrugged and threw out her hands. "We're allies, Regina. And while I doubt that Snow and I will ever be anything approaching friends, we have no secrets when it comes to this war."

Regina's mouth hardened into a firm line and she clutched her arms around her body, feeling the comforting snugness of her leather vest beneath her fingertips. "No secrets," she repeated in a blunted, dull tone. "What a revelation. They never really were Snow's forte."

"I think there have been enough secrets to last a lifetime," Abigail responded, slipping her arm through Regina's once more and resuming their trek towards the tents. "Two lifetimes, actually," she added with a faint roll of her eyes.

"There are some secrets that deserve to be kept," Regina murmured. "Some that need to be kept."

"In my experience," Abigail said, glancing at the other woman, "having secrets from those we need to trust doesn't lead to anything but heartbreak. And that's something I've already learned the hard way. So maybe you should try to place some trust in people. In yourself, Regina."

"You say that like it's the easiest thing in the world to do," Regina scoffed. "Trusting people means they possess the power to hurt you."

"It also means that you hope they won't."

"I'm afraid that hope is something of an emotional luxury I simply can't afford anymore," Regina said quietly, staring down at the ground as they slowed, almost reaching the outerlying tents. "Everyone I ever trusted used it against me."

A gentle pressure on her arm made her look at the woman next to her, and she saw in Abigail's eyes a tacit understanding, a calm that soothed her, even for a brief moment. It was odd, she thought, this compassion that had crossed worlds and still remained, even under the torrent of memories that had come flooding back for everyone here.

"You haven't had many friends before, have you?" Abigail asked gently, the only answer she needed gleaming in Regina's eyes with all the empty years that had left her without anyone on whom to rely for support.

"Well," Abigail said more firmly, squeezing Regina's arm. "You had one in Storybrooke, and you've still got one now. That might be worth remembering when you feel like you can't allow yourself any hope."

XxxXxx

Emma shrugged off her jacket and threw it onto one of the beds inside the tent. She glowered a little as she unbuckled her belt, removing it and the attached sword, resting the scabbard against the end of the cot. She didn't much like the outdoors; as a child she'd been forced into family camping trips that had always ended in her huddling into a sleeping bag, trying not to listen as her foster parents discussed her shortcomings quite openly. She'd been viewed as a cash cow; even as a kid, Emma had quickly come to learn that the value placed upon her was more to do with monetary recompense, rather than familial. And even though these royal tents were far more luxurious and comfortable than any she'd experienced as a child, the memories that this sojourn unearthed prickled uncomfortably down her spine. Because if she was honest with herself, the creeping sensation that she was being used, yet again, as a means to an end was undeniable.

Sighing deeply, she felt the headache she'd been trying to keep at bay return, throbbing between her eyes. With it came the incessant tingle of magic, emanating from her chest and tingling down towards her fingertips. She clenched her hands into fists and tried to shake it off, but she knew that it would continue to taunt her nonetheless. It had become a predator inside her own body, taking advantage of her moods and surging towards any crack in her stoicism so that it might manifest itself and overwhelm her.

For all that Regina had said about accepting and indulging in it, Emma knew that, deep down, she hated it. Hated how it made her different, isolated her, threatened the control that she'd always tried to exert over her own life and actions. Because when she used magic, it felt too good for it to truly be that way. It made her suspicious of it, wary of what might happen – of what already had.

Turning, she sank down onto the cot behind her and stretched out her legs, pressing her palms down onto her thighs and staring at her fingers. Things that seemed too good to be true usually were. And when she used magic, it felt too amazing for it ever to sit well with her afterwards. Good things came at a price; Emma had learned that the hard way. The foster system had presented her with hope, only to dash it when she'd been found wanting as a child.

She couldn't help wondering if maybe she still _was_. If she wasn't really the Savior of these people, but a disappointment instead. Because if she was unable to truly save everyone in Fairy Tale Land, and if her magic wasn't a force for good but a power of destruction, then what use was she at all?

The outer flap of the tent opened, casting a red splash of early evening sunshine across the floor as Regina entered the tent, stooping under the low frame of the doorway. Straightening, the flap fell closed behind her and she stood for a moment, looking at Emma as the interior returned to relative gloom.

"Where's Henry?" she finally asked, moving forwards and sitting on the edge of the bed opposite Emma's.

"Bonding with his grandfather over wooden swords, I think," Emma said wearily. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a grin and she shrugged. "It makes the kid happy, so I guess it's harmless fun."

"He shouldn't be here," Regina told her. "He shouldn't be around all of this."

"Yeah, I know," Emma sighed. "Granny's taking him back to the castle before nightfall. She and Red are going to keep watch over him there."

"Because having two mothers with powerful magic clearly isn't safe enough?" Regina's eyebrows rose and she pursed her lips as Emma looked at her, frowning.

"I don't know that **safe** is the word I'd use when it comes to describing my magic," she muttered. "You've seen the way he looks at me now…maybe he's better off not being around me for a while."

Regina got up from her bed, moved across the floor of the tent and sat down next to Emma, taking one of the blonde's hands in her own. The gesture brought a faint smile to Emma's lips, but even as Regina's fingers intertwined with her own, she felt them hold a little too tightly, a little too desperately.

"Henry loves you," Regina said gently. "You're his mother, and the love a child has for a parent endures, no matter what you think you've done to lessen it."

Emma looked askance at Regina, narrowing her eyes a little. "I seem to remember you having some trouble believing that Henry loved you back in Storybrooke."

"I had some trouble believing that **anyone** could love me when we were back there," Regina demurred, chin dropping onto her chest. It felt like a lifetime ago, when emptiness had echoed longing inside her chest. And even if Henry's love had been the one thing she'd yearned for more than anything else, somewhere along the way Regina had come to understand that she simply didn't have it. It was a wretched sort of existence, to crave his affection every single day and suffer the sting of rejection each time she drew near to him. All it did was compound the things that lurked in the dark recesses of her mind, the voice that berated her and told her truths about herself that she'd worked so hard to ignore and refute.

"Yeah, well, you and me both," Emma huffed, slipping her hand out of Regina's grasp and flopping back onto the bed. "And Henry…he has such firm ideas about who I'm supposed to be. I feel like I keep letting him down."

"What was it you told me once?" Regina turned and looked at Emma. "That Henry's a child, which means he thinks and feels like a child? You once said that he blamed me for all the flaws in his world because I was the center of it. It seems to me that you should take a little of your own advice."

Regina put a hand onto Emma's knee, an instinctive, comforting gesture that brought a half-hearted smile to the blonde's lips. "He'll come around," she told Emma. "He knows you didn't mean to hurt me, and he knows that you'll never hurt him."

Letting out a long, grumbling breath, Emma rolled her eyes and nudged at Regina's form with her leg. "As much as I hate to admit that you're right," she began, then laughed a little, "you're probably right. And since when did using my own words against me become okay?"

Now Regina smiled, and for a moment it felt as though everything between them was okay again; like none of this present strife existed. She wondered at the back of her mind if this was how it felt when doing the right thing came easily, without bargaining or sacrifice or any of the attached codicils and deals that it had always engendered. Her fingers slid over Emma's leg and she patted it gently, lovingly. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"Since we decided to become a family," she said. "Since we decided to raise our son together."

"So you **do** know something about having adult relationships, then?" Emma's eyebrows rose and her voice was playful as Regina's fingertips lingered over the material of her breeches. "Or is it just that you know something about baiting me instead?"

There was a faint hint of pride around the upturn of Regina's mouth, and her touch danced across Emma's leg as she lifted her chin a little. She looked, Emma thought, more like her old self than she had done in weeks. It was a welcome sight, one that made Emma shift a little on the bed, moving closer to Regina.

"**Baiting** you?" Regina murmured, a wicked gleam entering her gaze. "I have no idea what you're talking about, dear."

"Uh huh," Emma grunted, her head thudding back onto the pillow beneath it. "Except that you've always known more than anyone else, no matter what world we live in."

"Perhaps," Regina responded, "apart from when it came to you." She watched as Emma lifted her head from the pillow and stared at her, nonplussed. Regina patted at Emma's leg again and smoothed her hand over the rather coarse material of the blonde's breeches.

"I didn't expect you," she explained hesitantly. "I didn't expect this." She swept her hand around the tent and shook her head, frowning a little.

"I didn't expect it either," Emma sighed.

"Well, it's harder for you to adjust to life here than anyone else, not to mention the magic," Regina told her.

Emma struggled up onto her elbows and huffed a lock of hair from her eyes. She gazed at Regina, wondering just how it was that they had found one another in the melee of their lives, in the isolation that had characterized them; not to mention that the Savior and the Evil Queen should have been sworn enemies instead of lovers. Instead of family.

"No – I didn't mean…" Emma blurted, then chewed on her lower lip for a second. "I didn't really mean the whole fairytale thing, although yeah, that's kinda weird and the magic is…well…**magic**," she finished lamely. She caught Regina's curious gaze and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"I mean you and Henry," she offered. "You both kinda took me by surprise, you know? He got inside my head and I started to care about him and then…then you…"

"Turned out to be the Evil Queen?" Regina mused quietly, shamefully.

Emma shook her head. "No – I mean – yeah, you did but…Regina, you have to understand that I lived a life where I'd told myself that falling in love and being in a relationship was what other people did. People stupid enough to let themselves get hurt by it. I didn't want that for myself. Not again."

"Again?" Regina enquired, leaning forwards and peering into Emma's face.

"Henry's father."

Regina waited, but no further explanation seemed forthcoming, and she gazed at Emma's tight-lipped expression and the consternation that swept over her features. She wanted to know – oh, she was eaten up with wanting to know _everything_ about Emma's life before they'd met. Facts and prison records only told so much, and Regina knew that the hidden details of stories had the power to make victims into villains, should the narrative of their lives deem it so.

They sat in silence, distant sounds of soldiers moving around the encampment reaching them as night began to fall outside. Then Emma let out a tiny noise of submission, of acceptance and the inevitability of finding what she'd always abjured in the arms of a woman she was supposed to hate.

"I can't lose anything else," Emma suddenly said, breaking the quiet between them. "I can't lose anyone else."

"I know," Regina murmured.

"**Do** you?" Emma turned on the bed, reaching out and grasping Regina's wrist. Her grip was hard, the magic within it buzzing sensation up Regina's arm and it heightened everything between them, emotion whirling in their heads and hearts like a vortex of all the pain they'd endured.

"I feel like I'm the only one fighting for you," Emma said harshly. "And now I'm expected to fight for everyone else, too. I can't do it alone, Regina. I spent most of my life alone because I thought that was the only way I could protect myself."

"You're **not** alone," Regina said firmly. "Emma, I'm here. I'm with you."

Emma let out a mirthless blurt of laughter. "Until you've done what they want you to and then you'll just sit back and take whatever punishment they give."

"I don't have a choice. I don't have – "

"There's **always** a choice!" Emma cried out, letting go of Regina's wrist and springing to her feet, pacing the floor of the tent agitatedly. "And maybe you made the wrong ones in the past but if I've learned anything about my life, then it's that we can't live in the past. We just **can't**."

"Try telling that to your parents," Regina snapped, eyes glittering with misspent years where all she'd done was try to wrest control and use it to sate her vengeful heart.

"Why don't **you** try telling that to them?" Emma turned on Regina, clenching her hands into fists by her sides. "When you lived here before, you never let anyone tell you what to do – why can't you be like that now?"

"Because that woman isn't who I am anymore!" Now Regina got to her feet and faced Emma, only inches between them. "I can't go back to that, Emma. I – I **won't** go back to that."

"Yeah? Well I sometimes wish you would."

Regina's jaw hardened and she stood upright, features tightening as a glimmer of her past self shone in her eyes. She could feel magic inside her, growing and wanting release. She'd felt it ever since she returned here, ever since Emma had discovered her own magic. The desire to use it, to take the things she wanted and never, _ever_ apologize for it was almost overwhelming at times. It weakened her resolve to change; it frayed her strength around the edges until she wanted, quite desperately, to give in to it just so that she wouldn't have to battle it anymore.

"Believe me, dear," Regina said, her voice deepening with the remnants of all she used to be, "I know you think you understand who I used to be, but you have **no** idea what I was capable of."

"Then show me," Emma said through clenched teeth, feeling magic swirl around them, pulling her towards an inky darkness that was more seductive than any of the things she'd always strived to hold dear.

"You don't want that."

"No – **you** don't want that," Emma hissed. "I'm not afraid of you, Regina. I'm not afraid of your magic or your power or who you used to be."

Regina reached out, her fingertips sliding around Emma's chin. She held it delicately, but the strength in her touch shivered over the blonde's skin as a thumb tracked a line across Emma's cheek.

"Oh, really?" Regina's voice was silky, a caress that thrummed a deep chord within Emma's chest. "Well, dear, you **should** be."

"The only thing I'm afraid of is being without you, of what it will do to me and Henry."

Regina chuckled, a sound that resonated in Emma's gut and she knew – she _knew_ – that goading the other woman wasn't right. But it was a last ditch attempt, borne of desperation and the terrors that throbbed incessantly in her head: the frightening prospect of being alone again, of having to lose that which she held most dear. For a second, Emma hated love; hated feeling it and needing it so much because she knew that without it, she simply wouldn't be strong enough to survive its loss this time.

"**So** passionate," Regina whispered, her palm cupping Emma's cheek. It was hard to tell if she was impressed or mocking, and Emma shivered a little. Regina's eyes seemed almost black in the gathering darkness. All external sound was smothered and Emma could only hear the frantic pounding of her heart as Regina's hand slipped from her face, fingers trailing down over her breastbone to tap gently above her heart.

"We're all led by our hearts, in the end," Regina mused quietly. "I took so many over the years. And here you are, giving me yours like some sort of sacrificial offering."

A tiny frown edged between her brows and her hand lay flat over Emma's breast. "You have no idea what you're doing," she said, her voice barely audible at all.

Emma's hand covered Regina's, her skin clammy with the magic she was barely keeping at bay. When they were together like this, so close and so intimately linked, Emma felt as though nothing could ever hurt them again. Not if they didn't want it to. Not if they indulged in the bond that magic had formed between them. Nobody else could possibly understand that; nobody else really wanted to.

"Then teach me," Emma implored. "Show me. Take my heart, if that's what you want. It's yours anyway."

Regina blinked, artifice falling from her face like a veil, revealing the truth of Emma's words and how nobody, not since Daniel, had craved her love so much that they were willing to surrender their own heart in order to have it. Her mother had always told her that power was freedom, but Regina knew that Cora had lied: power was as much a prison as the betrayal that had shaped her and blackened her heart. And yet, it was power itself that rushed through her veins as Emma's hand pressed on top of her own.

She wanted to protest, to back away and deny herself the liberating strength that was always there, somewhere inside of her. Under her hand, Regina felt as though she could feel Emma's heart straining towards her, pounding under her touch in a never-ending plea for her to snatch it, keep it, hide it away like so many other treasures she'd stolen in the past. And magic…_always_ magic, was within every heartbeat that kept time in both of their chests, ticking away the seconds that ached in the spaces between.

"Regina," Emma breathed. Their eyes met, held. Whatever vestiges of light that burned in Regina's heart dimmed, overwhelmed by the surge of magical longing that Emma sparked: the incendiary to a fire that simply would not be extinguished.

"Please," Emma implored, moving closer now so that their bodies were touching, flush against one another, hands trapped over her heart. "**Please**, my queen."

In the moment when Emma's lips touched her own, Regina knew she was lost. She'd always found power in the act of _never_ submitting, in the displays of ferocity and cruelty that had typified her in this world. So by giving in, by allowing Emma's strength to wind around her and seduce her into this kiss, this embrace, there was a strange irony to the act. As her eyes closed and she felt Emma's fingers sink into her hair, Regina couldn't help wondering if she'd always been destined to be ruined by this weakness, after all.


	16. Chapter 16

Part 16

Emma was the first to wake, her eyes snapping open and staring up at the maroon stripes of the canvas over her head. She blinked, frowning a little, wondering if the shouting she'd heard in her dreams was real. Straining to listen, the only sound outside the tent was of the morning chorus of birds who had, it seemed, returned to their perches on the treetops of the forest, finally accustomed to the military intruders below.

Her right arm was numb; gingerly, Emma began to slide it from underneath the figure in her embrace. Regina stirred and moaned a little, turning in the bed so that her face pressed against the curve of Emma's neck, warm breath flooding over the blonde's collarbone.

"These beds aren't made for two," Regina said sleepily, inching closer to Emma's body.

"They're barely made for **one**," Emma grumbled, extricating herself from Regina's arms and sitting up in the bed. She rubbed at her face, stretching her neck from side to side and feeling a dull ache in it where she'd clearly slept in an awkward, cramped position.

Regina let out a sound of dismay, her fingers plucking insistently at Emma's tank top. But the blonde's smile of response was half-hearted: she was sore and cold and, she realized, barely dressed below the blankets that covered them.

"I feel like I've got a hangover," Emma muttered, shoving a hand through the tangled blonde locks hanging over her shoulders. "And why are there leaves in my hair?"

She twisted around in the bed, holding up the offending items in her fingers. Regina stared at them a little blearily before bursting into laughter, rich and throaty and utterly without restraint. Clutching the bedclothes around her with one hand, Regina pushed herself up onto one elbow, her amusement fading to deep chortles of delight as Emma glared at her and threw the leaves onto the floor.

"What the – " she blurted, twisting her arm round to reveal a bruise that was already dark and tender. "How did my arm get like this?"

She scrabbled at her tank top, lifting it up briefly and hissing as she prodded a tender spot just below her ribs. A red mark colored her pale flesh and Emma frowned. She hadn't realized they'd played so rough last night; there was no pain in her recollection of the previous night, only a glorious flood of what she and Regina could do together with their magic.

"Tell me you at least remember going into the forest last night," Regina said, eyeing Emma with curiosity.

Memories seeped back into Emma's mind, trickling through her brain and knotting in her gut. They'd crept out together, avoiding the sentries posted around the perimeter of their camp, silent until they were well away from the tents and all the people in them. The frustration both of them felt had taken hold, manifesting itself in an outburst of magic that swirled around them like a tempest formed of pure emotion. It had been a release, of sorts; a way of expelling the things beyond their control into finely honed bolts of light and smoke. Regina had pushed Emma to her limits – perhaps past them – and the Savior had responded in kind, stronger and more determined than she had been in past weeks.

But when they were exhausted by it, when they were punchdrunk and almost spent, they had lurched towards one another. Whatever the magic instilled in them and however it made them long for one another became physical in the hungry way they touched skin, traced lips over flesh and tugged at clothing.

The combination of their magic had been intoxicating. Emma rubbed the heel of her hand across her forehead and felt the night's events linger, sense memory making them suddenly evocative, tempting. She grinned almost foolishly as she looked at Regina and their eyes met in tacit understanding.

"Oh yeah, I remember alright," she murmured, even though the fullness of the night's events were returning in dreamlike patches. She turned back to look around the dappled, purpling color inside the tent as the sun rose outside. Regina had brought them back here in a whirl of smoke. One minute they'd been half-dressed and breathless in the forest; the next, they'd been falling onto the small cot inside the tent, wrapped in one another's arms.

Regina had been magnificent. Emma knew no other way to describe it, and recalled how she'd been a little intimidated by the other woman at first. Teasing and drawing skill from Emma until the two of them were almost even matched, Regina had done so with an unforgiving, exacting nature that made her stand tall in the dark shadows of the trees. The woman Emma had traded magical blows with wasn't the broken, submissive figure who had offered herself up as necessary sacrifice. No; Regina had been strong and proud, eyes glistening with violet shades of augury as she drew Emma further under her spell.

Emma shivered a little. It was witchcraft, plain and simple. And she'd loved every minute of it; responded to every emotion it eked out of her body and pulled from her fingertips. So much so that the overwhelming feeling resonating in Emma's chest now was satisfaction; fulfillment; a sense of being replete.

A pair of arms snaked around her body and she felt Regina's breasts press against her back, their warm, pliant flesh trembling a newer sensation down her body.

"You were incredible," Regina whispered, her fingers traveling down Emma's stomach, sliding beneath the hem of her tank top and back up over skin. A lazy chuckle sounded close to Emma's ear as Regina nuzzled into her neck and Emma closed her eyes, reveling in it. Whether it was the magic, or the mere proximity of the other woman, there was something about the way they connected like this that was unique, special. Something Emma was sure nobody else could really comprehend because in any world she and Regina were viewed as woefully mismatched. But in this one, they were expected enemies; polar opposites.

Only, Emma thought, they really weren't. When it mattered and where it hurt the most, she and Regina were more alike than anyone else could possibly imagine.

Emma laughed softly as Regina hummed seduction into her neck. "You're talking about the magic, right?"

"I'm talking about **everything**," Regina whispered, causing a tremor to make its way down Emma's spine then back up again. Fingertips wandered up over Emma's torso, lingering beneath the curve of her breasts before moving over them. Arching her back, Emma let out a tiny groan as her nipples sprang into hardness under Regina's palms.

"It's actually kind of a…**oh**…a blur," Emma choked out as a deft fingers and thumbs closed around her nipples, squeezing hard enough to make her gulp mid-sentence. "But I remember how good it felt."

"Oh yes," Regina breathed against Emma's cheek. "It was certainly **that**. I rather think you have a natural aptitude for magic, dear."

Another painfully glorious bolt of sensation rocketed through Emma's body as Regina pinched at her nipples again, flooding heat down towards her thighs and lingering between them with an insistent, wanting throb. Emma wrested herself free of Regina's embrace and turned in the bed. Placing her hands onto Regina's shoulders, she unceremoniously pushed the other woman onto her back, hoisting herself up and over until she was straddling Regina's thighs, gazing down at her, every nerve ending alive with tingling need.

"You know what **else** I've got a natural aptitude for?" Emma grinned wolfishly, shifting her hips in such a way that Regina gasped and pushed her own upwards.

Threading her hands through Emma's blonde locks, Regina's gaze narrowed and her lips parted, moist and plump and greedy as Emma thrust down once again.

"I'm sure I don't know," Regina said in a graveled tone. "Why don't you tell me?"

Leaning down, Emma captured the other woman's mouth in a kiss. Her teeth closed over Regina's lower lip and tugged hard enough to elicit a whine of pain. Letting go, Emma gazed into eyes that were fading almost to black and she smiled. Because _this_ was who Regina was; this was the seduction she'd missed so much and wanted so desperately.

"Why don't you guess?" Emma murmured, her hips beginning to paint slow, deliberate circles of desire on Regina's body.

The fingers in her hair tightened, Regina's nails scraping across her scalp. Emma let out a shaky breath as pinpricks of heady pain made her quiver, made her heartbeat quicken, made her grind herself downwards. The smirk on Regina's lips was positively sinful; there would be no absolution offered this morning, Emma knew _that_ as surely as she knew she wanted Regina like this always.

"Because I like to hear it," Regina told her. "I liked hearing it last night. Do you know what you told me?"

"Not really…I can't…when the magic takes hold it's hard for me to…"

"Oh, you **poor** thing," Regina said, pulling Emma's mouth to her own for a heated kiss. Their tongues met, pushing past lips and teeth and tangling together for a prescient moment in which the previous night loomed in their memories: dark, heavy, full of liquid heat and sticky magic.

Pushing Emma away from her, Regina's mouth acquired a somewhat smug shape, eyes glinting with wicked mischief as Emma panted above her, lips red and parted.

"Your brain simply can't cope with all that magic and retain the ability to remember it as well, can it, dear?"

Emma knew that Regina was taunting her, and on any other day, she might have been sorely offended by the inference that the other woman threw her way. On any other day, she might have railed against the tiny note of derision in Regina's voice. But even though her memories of the previous night were misted and half-shrouded, Emma knew that it had been an experience unlike any other. Just as Regina was a woman unlike any other.

"I guess we're not all as anally retentive as you are, your Majesty," Emma growled, but her eyes sparkled as she felt Regina's fingers tickle down her neck, down to where the neck of her tank top swooped low beneath her throat.

"Oh, I'm not complaining," Regina laughed softly. "Last night was something of a learning experience for me too. I knew you were powerful, Emma, but what you showed me last night was…"

Her voice trailed away as Emma shifted on top of her, as the blonde's mouth curved into a smirk and her eyes lit up with remnants of the sheer, blistering strength that Regina had witnessed. She'd almost forgotten the triumph of making magic; almost relegated her own powers to a shameful, secretive place inside her. But last night, with Emma, Regina had felt more liberated by her magic than she'd ever done before. It wasn't simply a tool to be used for her own gain; it was a pleasure, something to indulge in and allow to wreak havoc within her own self just as her incessant lust for Emma was doing right now.

"Good?" Emma murmured, bending her head again and placing a wet trail of kisses down Regina's exposed neck. "Really…fucking…good..."

"Eloquent as always," Regina snickered, but she pressed her head back into the pillow behind it and gave herself up to the lips and teeth that were nipping and scraping over her throat. She heard Emma's laugh, muffled and sounding as though it came from far away as she slithered down Regina's body. A mouth bumped over the rise of Regina's clavicle, the tip of a tongue sliding over the swell of her breast before it slipped into the valley between them.

Regina let out a grated sigh, her hands grasping at Emma's shoulders. But the blonde grabbed her wrists, easily pinning Regina's hands back onto the pillow without even halting the pathway her lips were taking down luxuriously creamy skin. Regina let out a groan as she was imprisoned, unable to touch Emma with anything other than the length of her body, her hips thrusting upwards at the same time Emma's pushed down.

"This…" Emma moaned, circling the tip of her tongue around Regina's nipple before sucking on it hard enough to draw a gasp from the woman beneath her, "…this is magic, Regina. **You** are magic. And I…I can't make mine work without you."

She lifted her head, blonde hair hanging down to prickle over Regina's skin. "**I** can't work without you," she added in a hushed tone, looking into eyes that stared back in awed wonder and abject supplication.

"Emma," Regina began, "about last night. You – "

Anything she might have said was cut short by the sound of surprise that came from Emma's mouth. Craning her head up, Regina saw Emma staring down at her chest. The fingers on her wrists loosened and Emma darted upwards, scrambling away down the bed a little.

Leaning up onto her elbows, Regina frowned. Emma looked horrified, sickened. A hand covered her mouth and she pointed with a trembling finger towards the flesh that had previously been worshipped and kissed by her mouth. Just off-center in Regina's chest, there were five pink indentations that were beginning to bruise around the edges. Five marks that Emma slowly realized were the shape of fingertips. And they were around where Regina's heart should be.

"What is **that**?" Emma asked, even though she knew; her memory of the previous night was hazy but somewhere, caught in the winding plumes of magic that she and Regina had cast around them, she was hit with a flashing image. It was visceral, shockingly real, and Emma shrank from it, repulsed.

"It's fine," Regina soothed, reaching out to Emma but the blonde flinched and withdrew from her touch, shaking her head and wrapping her arms around herself for scant comfort.

"Did I do that?" Emma choked out. "Did I…**no**." She clamped her lips tight shut and shook her head again, clenching at herself with numbed fingers.

"Emma, dear, it's fine," Regina said again, sitting up in bed and pulling one of the blankets around her naked body.

Shivering in the cold air of the tent, Emma felt nausea rise in her throat. She swallowed hard, hearing her throat click, dry and uncooperative. Then she sprang from the bed and stumbled across the floor of the tent, grasping at her pants and pulling them on before sitting on the empty cot, breathing heavily.

"You wanted to know," Regina told her, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, drawing the blanket more firmly across her shoulders. "You wanted to know how to take a heart, how it feels."

"That's disgusting," Emma gulped, the corners of her mouth turning down.

"It didn't seem so disgusting when you were using your magic last night," Regina said sharply.

"When I use magic, **nothing** seems too bad or too wrong. You know how it takes over."

"Oh, do I?" Regina's eyebrows rose and she looked almost disdainful. "All I know is that last night you were only too eager to learn more, to **do** more. I'm not sure I could have stopped you even if I'd wanted to."

"You **should** have wanted to!" Emma spat. "You should have stopped me."

"Stop you?" There was a note of incredulity in Regina's voice and she blinked at Emma, caught somewhere between alarm and dismissal. "I don't know whether you've noticed, Emma, but we're about to go to war. What were you imagining you'd do to the enemies of the realm – push them over and hope they stay down?"

"I am **not** ripping out hearts!" Emma growled. She stabbed a finger into the air towards Regina and glared at her. "Not yours and not anyone else's! That's not how this is going to work."

"The way this works, **Savior**," Regina said disparagingly, "is that on the battlefield, you kill or be killed. If you control a heart, you control the person."

"But I don't want to control **you**!" Emma cried out, distress etching lines around her eyes and tugging at her mouth. "Regina, why the hell would even let me do that to you?" She pointed again towards Regina's chest and saw how the other woman pulled at the blanket again, covering the marks that brought a swell of nausea to Emma's throat, a shameful flush to her cheeks.

"Because I – "

"Because **what**, Regina?" Emma shot to her feet and began pacing the floor of the tent, clenching and unclenching her hands into agitated, hard fists. "Because you want me to use my powers the way you used to? Well, I don't want to **be** you. I don't want to let whatever's inside of me take over and make me…make me hurt you."

She let out a harsh breath, shaking her head. "I just don't understand why you do. Why you'd encourage me to do that."

Regina was silent. Emma felt anger building inside her, boiling at the back of her neck, heating her skin so that it felt like it was burning, like her entire body was aflame. Taking a couple of lengthy strides across the tent, she bent down in front of Regina and grabbed her shoulders, shaking the other woman a little.

"Why do you let me? Tell me. **Why**?"

"Because I trust you," Regina said in a strangled tone. "Because I love you and…and because your power, Emma, it's…"

"It's **what**?" Emma knelt down in front of Regina, peering up into her face.

"I need it. I need you to make me **feel** it. Just to…make me feel." Regina confessed, but she shook her head, confused and barely able to voice just how it felt when Emma touched her with magic. It was the essence of the other woman – all the love and purity that Regina had strived for as a young woman and ultimately denied herself in this land. To feel it surround her was a reminder of what she'd cast aside, a punishment she was yet to truly accept.

But she knew she deserved it, just as she'd suspected she deserved it when her own mother had used magic against her. And even if Emma's magic carried beauty and wonder, it also carried pent-up frustration and anger that swelled through decades of hurt and rejection. And _that_, Regina knew, spoke to her heart in ways she couldn't quite define. It mingled with her own desolate soul, simultaneously casting shadows and light across its landscape, barren for so long.

Emma let out a deep, heavy sigh. Lifting a hand, she placed her palm on Regina's cheek, abject sadness pulling at her features and lying across the planes of her face in sorrowful acknowledgement. She stared at Regina as though she'd never seen her before, comprehension darkening her eyes to stormy, unsettled viridian. In Storybrooke, Emma had needed to know that Regina was sorry for all she'd done, that she knew the pain she'd caused, the lives she'd taken in a plan of selfish design.

Looking at her now, Emma couldn't see anything _but_ the guilt that others suspected Regina simply didn't feel. It shimmered like tears in Regina's eyes, weighting her shoulders in a pathetic accumulation of how hate could blacken a heart. Retribution took many forms; Emma was beginning to understand that the love Regina felt for her, deep and vast and endless as the ocean, was as much a punishment as anything this world might demand from its former enemy.

Letting out a small noise of sympathy from her throat, Emma stroked her thumb over Regina's cheek, tilting her head onto one side. She'd been born into this world to save it from wickedness. But maybe…just maybe, she'd also been born to save Regina from herself. Maybe she was the only person who possibly _could_.

"Regina, you don't need to let me hurt you to prove that you love me," Emma said, her voice lowering to a more gentle tone. "And loving me isn't – it shouldn't be something you **endure**. You don't need to give me your heart to…you know…give me your heart." She gave a hopeful smile that she didn't really feel, and stroked at Regina's cheek again.

But Regina remained downcast, her features as troubled as her heart: that bruised and battered organ beating out of a time with everything else in her life. Love had always hurt so much. Accepting that pain had seemed the only way to feel it at all, so she simply couldn't understand why her willingness to submit to the Savior's power didn't please Emma; why it failed to cement the bond between them that Regina never felt more keenly than when they cast magic together.

In the end, she thought grimly, love and magic were more alike than not. Both were formed of endless power, beyond the control she'd sought to exact over them, and both had the strength to reduce her to ashes.

Movement and hushed voices outside the tent alerted them both to the presence of guards. Getting to her feet, Emma moved towards the flaps of the tent, frowning.

"Your Highness," one of the soldiers called out, "you must come with us. The Queen wishes to see you."

"Yeah, tell her we're a little busy right now," Emma barked irritably.

"It's…it's not a request, your Highness."

Exchanging a glance with Regina, Emma let out a growl of impatience. She lifted one of the flaps and stood in the space it provided, squaring her shoulders and glaring at the guards outside. They shifted uncomfortably under her piercing gaze, moving a little closer together. In Storybrooke, Emma had always been a reliable source of steady support. But here, with magic and the onset of war, the Savior had become a figurehead, worthy of fear and tremulous respect.

"Not a request?" Emma repeated, looking from one guard to the other, eyebrows rising. "What does that mean – that you're…you're arresting us? For what?"

"Not you, your Highness," one of the guards said hesitantly. He gripped his lance a little more tightly and chose to stare down at the ground instead of at Emma. Deference had returned easily to his life here in Fairy Tale Land; trepidation regarding what magic might do to him, even more so.

"We're here for the queen," the other guard stepped forwards and glanced at his counterpart. "The Evil Queen. She's to be brought before Queen Snow White, on charges of murder."

XxxXxx

Emma stared at the faces gathered around the round table in the War Room, her gaze resting on each and every one, noting how they could only return it for a few seconds before they looked away. The defiance on her face was evident in the taut, strained lines around her eyes and mouth. But it was anger that gleamed in her eyes, stony and hard and glittering like diamonds. Beside her, Henry trembled a little and she reached out, sliding an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against her. Even in light of his reluctance to be close the way he used to, it seemed that disaster would always bring him running back to her.

And this, Emma thought, _was_ a disaster. A wrong that needs must be righted. But the tide was rolling against her – against both her and Regina. They had been swept up in it, sucked under by it, and the woman that Emma loved more fiercely and more passionately than she'd ever loved anyone before had been returned to Snow's castle in chains.

"Mom," Henry whispered, his voice barely audible. It was such a simple word, a plaintive request: a word that he'd only just understood the meaning of when it came to Emma's place in his life. And he said it now as an entreaty, as a call to arms that Emma was only too happy to take up in defense of this boy, in defense of Regina, to protect what she held most dear.

"It's okay, Henry," she murmured, squeezing at his shoulder. "We'll figure this out, I promise."

It was almost laughable, really. Because Emma had grown up hearing empty promises from the foster parents she'd lived with and a system that had failed her. A promise was a gesture that became increasingly meaningless throughout her life; a word that had little credence. Hearing herself make it now to her son, Emma couldn't help wondering if she, too, was indulging in the facile words that adults used to keep children quiet, to keep them in their place.

"The child shouldn't be here," one of the Council members said gravely, staring at Henry with such dispassionate dismissal that the boy moved even closer to Emma, clearly uncomfortable with the attention garnered and the eyes that swept over him right now.

Emma stared balefully at the man, taking in his ornate clothing and the regal lift of his chin. She half-thought that she remembered him from Storybrooke, but since returning here, some citizens had cast off their cursed lives with gusto, becoming strangers in a strange land.

"He's her **son**," she said firmly. "You locked up his mother so I think he's got every right to be here. It's about time he heard what you've got to say about the woman who raised him."

"Emma…" From across the table, Snow sighed heavily and looked at her daughter with as much empathy as she could muster up. "The evidence kind of speaks for itself, not to mention the fact that Regina's track record of keeping to her promises is unreliable, at best."

_Yes_, Emma thought. Promises meant very little, in the end, if those who heard them closed their ears to the possibility they might be real.

"You know," Emma remarked, letting go of Henry and placing her hands onto the smooth, varnished surface of the table in front of her, "it kind of seems to me that you – **all** of you – have just been looking for an excuse to punish her. And now you've got one, you're all more than happy to lock her up."

"We need to keep our people safe," Charming said, his hand covering Snow's.

"Really?" Emma's eyebrows shot up incredulously. "So let me get this right: if Regina's not your weapon of war, then she's the enemy? Tell me how that makes any sense at all."

"Three bodies were found with their hearts ripped out in a village near the encampment," Leroy, seated at the table, spoke up in a gruff voice of disgust. "And the Evil Queen left the camp during the night. Seems to me that putting two and two together ain't that hard."

"Only if people in Fairy Tale Land can't count," Emma snapped, watching Leroy's lip curl in retaliation. "I was with her last night. **All** night," she added emphatically, not caring how some of the Council members shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

"She didn't do this," Emma told them, her gaze sweeping the occupants at the table. She closed her eyes and sighed, trying not to remember the marks on Regina's chest, trying not to recall how she'd wanted to know what it felt like to take a heart, to touch it and grasp it.

"Your word, Savior, is all we have to trust. Because none of us trust **her**." The elderly Council member spoke up again, eyeing Emma with doubt. He glanced at the people beside him, garnering support from their nodding heads and faint sounds of agreement.

"**I** trust her," Emma barked, then looked across the table at her parents. "I thought you did too."

"I wanted nothing more than to do that," Snow said quietly, painfully. "We all did. But, Emma, if Regina is using her magic again, then there's no accounting for what she might want to do with it. This land was her victim once before and no matter how many chances we gave her to change, she never did."

"No, because you **demanded** that she did. She never wanted to before now. And if you can't see the difference between the two then you're blind," Emma snapped. Henry tensed beside her and she glanced at him, wondering what consequences were yet to bear on how he would see his family so fractured this way.

"Do you honestly think, any of you, that if she was guilty she'd have let you bring her back here?" Emma looked around the table, her eyes briefly meeting Ruby's. She saw how the girl drew back in her chair, staring down at her hands.

"Yes, she's using her magic again and I know you all think you understand what that means. But if she'd wanted to, she could have broken those chains you put her in; she could have escaped from the dungeon and she'd be on the other side of the world by now."

It was a truth that hung over the table for a minute, causing consternation to pass over Snow's features as she looked at her husband. The horror on Regina's face when accusations were laid at her feet was undeniable and, for a moment, Snow had desperately wanted to believe Regina's protestations of innocence. She'd longed to place her trust in a woman who pleaded change had, in fact, happened; yearned for the figure who had shown her such grace and love from the second they'd met. But the heavy shadows of the years that followed had darkened Snow's conscience and clouded her heart with doubt.

When Grumpy and the dwarves had brought her news of their shocking discovery, Snow had felt sick to her stomach. Because old habits died hard. For _everyone_.

"Maybe she's biding her time," Granny spoke up, shrugging equivocally. "Maybe she's trying to make us all think she's innocent. She's done it before."

Emma shook her head, grinding her back teeth together. She'd been fighting the surge of anger since they took Regina away – since Regina let them. It shivered around her now, buzzing with magical intent and making her flex her fingers, nails scraping over the surface of the table. With great difficulty, she swallowed down the impetus to punish them all, if only to make them see what a great injustice this was. Because making them suffer like she was right now – and surely like Regina was in the dungeons below – wasn't the right way, but it was _a_ way. And she grew ever closer to reaching for her powers, wanting nothing more than to give in to them and let them run rampant in righteous assertion of Regina's innocence.

"Here's the thing," Emma ground out in a low voice, "maybe she actually **is** innocent. Not one of you has even considered that, have you? Because she's nothing to you."

"That's not true," Charming said firmly. "We know **exactly** who and what she is."

"You don't." Henry's voice was choked and as Emma turned to look at him, her heart clenched in her chest. He was fighting back tears and scrubbed at his cheeks with a balled up fist as he met Charming's surprised gaze head on.

"My mom," Henry said slowly, gathering a little confidence from Emma's fingers sliding around his arm, "isn't like that anymore. She wasn't happy here and now…now she is. Because she's got us."

Snow smiled kindly at him, but there was a sadness in her eyes as she looked between her daughter and grandson. "Henry, I know you care about her, but – "

"I don't just care about her," Henry asserted. "I love her. So does Emma. You of all people should know what that does to someone."

A few Council members muttered beneath their breath and exchanged looks of condescending dismissal. True love, in this land, was paramount: the only thing that could break any curse and redeem any dark heart. But to hear it so simply expounded upon and from a child who wasn't born in this world and knew nothing of the rules that governed it was anathema to them. As was the thought of Regina's innocence. Because she'd sacrificed that possibility in favor of a path that none of them could possibly comprehend, much less see a way back from.

"This is all moot," one of the Council members said harshly, leaning over the table and appealing to Snow and Charming. "She's the Evil Queen in this land. To suggest that true love negates what she's done is repulsive."

"No, what's repulsive," Emma fixed him with a stony gaze, "is that you've all decided Regina's guilty and yeah, I know what she did to you all in the past. But to let that dictate her present and future is disgusting."

"Disgusting?" the Council member scoffed, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "What could possibly be more disgusting than the Savior born from true love imagining she has a future with the Evil Queen?"

Amidst the murmurs of agreement that filtered around the table, Emma heard Henry gasp. Her chair scraped on the stone floor as she shoved it back, eyes burning and cheeks flushed.

"How dare you!" she roared, and the magic rushed to her fingertips, blindingly white in contrast with the red mist that descended behind her eyes. "You have **no** right to pass judgment on what I feel or who I feel it for. I didn't fall in love with the Evil Queen. That woman doesn't exist anymore, no matter how much you all so desperately want her to, because then you'll have someone to blame for this, won't you?"

As she swept her hand around the room, barely able to catch her breath over the clattering of her heart in her chest, a swathe of light trickled from her fingers. It sparkled in the air before Emma snatched her hand back against her chest and willed herself to exert control.

"This new life that you all want so much is what's disgusting," she hissed. "The rules of this world are disgusting. Instead of trying to find out who's really responsible for what happened to those people, you're all reverting to form and blaming the one person – the **only** person – who's not the same anymore."

"The Evil Queen?" Leroy grunted, his face set in hard lines of repudiation. "Someone who collects hearts? You really expect us to believe that?"

"I watched her when you told her those villagers had been found," Emma said slowly, deliberately. "She didn't know."

"Emma, I know that you want to believe that Regina can change – " Snow began, but her daughter looked at her with such vehemence that she was silenced by a single shake of Emma's head.

"I know what I saw," she told the Council. "The old Regina would have reduced this place to ashes. The woman you put in chains…that's a woman who wants to change. She just wants everyone else to see it. I know that look. I know **her**."

Taking a fortifying breath, Emma swallowed hard. For once, her heart and head were in perfect synchronicity, bound in the love and faith she had in Regina. In them.

"I believe her," she said quietly. "I believe **in** her."

"With all due respect, you don't know her like we do." Charming looked at his daughter with something like sympathy, something like sorrow. Regina had made fools of them all, in the end, no matter how many opportunities she'd been handed to change, to be better. He would be damned if he'd let her do it again.

"Maybe that's the problem," Emma told him. "I know in your kingdom she was the Evil Queen, but now she's Regina, and I'm still the Savior and I say she's innocent until proven guilty."

An undercurrent of disapproval washed around the table, figures bending their heads to mutter to one another while Snow and Charming exchanged a desperate glance of anxious concern.

"Emma," Snow rose from the table and gathered her cloak around her shoulders. "Don't let how you feel about her blind you to the possibility that she might have done this. That she might have slipped. The woman you fell in love with is – "

"Not the Evil Queen!" Emma lost patience, banging her fist down on the table so hard that the sound echoed from the stone walls like a gunshot. "I didn't fall in love with whoever that is. I fell in love with Regina. Just her. And if you can't see that…if you can't understand that, then we're done here."

She slid her arm around Henry's shoulders and turned, pulling him along with her as she made for the doors. By the time she reached them, she'd already flung out her hand and they opened under her magical insistence, swinging wide and banging against the walls.

Watching her go, Snow clutched at Charming's hand. Because her daughter, striding purposefully away from them, Henry by her side, looked more like the woman Emma had just defended than the daughter Snow imagined she'd have. And as the doors clanged shut behind Emma and Henry, Snow visibly flinched. _Magic_, she thought. In the end, it was always about the magic. She'd seen what it had done to Regina; what it had compelled the Evil Queen to do and to take from them all. So it was with an encroaching sense of disquiet that Snow sank back into her chair, clinging onto Charming as though for dear life itself.

XxxXxx

Emma appeared silently from the shadows, coming to a halt by the bars of the cell into which Regina had been roughly thrown. They'd stripped her of her finery, dressing her in a simple cotton shift that hung from her form. Emma guessed it was Fairy Tale Land's version of prison attire, and the memory of the starched, stiff clothing she'd worn herself all those years ago made her skin itch a little. But it was the woman herself that held Emma's attention.

There had been a quiet acquiescence to Regina after the discovery of three mutilated villagers and her ensuing arrest. Once she'd pleaded her case, Regina had said no more; it was Emma who remained angry and resentful. Regina had crumbled, head hanging low on her chest as she watched the guards fasten shackles around her wrists, and she'd avoided eye contact with everyone except Emma as they led her away. That final, desperate expression in Regina's eyes had lingered, a maelstrom of emotion formed of rage and anguish and love – always love – creating a gathering storm above the Savior's head.

But Regina had been docile. And now, as she sat in her cell, she barely moved. But her hands, clasped together on her lap, were shaking.

"Regina," Emma said, and felt her legs almost give way as two dark eyes turned upon her from the other side of the cell. She grasped the bars in front of her, fingers curling around them for support as Regina gave a tight, watery smile.

"Hello, dear," she said. But her voice cracked and she looked away, back down at her hands, twisting her fingers together.

"Regina, I…" Emma wanted to offer words of comfort, words of solace. But Regina looked so small and insignificant in the cell, gloom reaching for her and the hard cot on which she sat little more than a plank of wood. Emma sighed, heavy-hearted. Because this wasn't right; it wasn't fair and, she knew, it wasn't the happy ending she'd so fervently wished for. It was a million miles away from what the storybooks had promised.

"I'm sorry."

Regina looked up at her again and proffered that same, wan smile. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Emma," she said in a hushed voice.

"I should have saved you," Emma blurted. "I mean, I still could. Tear down these bars and take you away somewhere. We could all go: you, me and Henry. Just go and never come back here."

"Running away?" Regina said. "And how would that help? They'd find us."

"We'd fight them. Together, Regina. Your magic and mine, together. It's the strongest I've ever felt and – and they couldn't ever hurt us again."

Regina sighed, nodding to herself. Then she rose to her feet and padded across the floor of the cell to where Emma stood. They were only inches apart, yet it felt like a world inserted itself between them; a world in which constant battle was no longer an option and where magic was the shard that pierced even the darkest of hearts to make it bleed sorrow and pain.

"I'm tired of fighting," Regina said, lifting a hand and wrapping her fingers around Emma's. The blonde shivered at the touch, closing her eyes and dipping her head for a second.

"Remember back in Storybrooke, when they found Sidney?" Emma said, looking up into Regina's eyes. "I knew you didn't do it then, and I know that you didn't do this, either. You're innocent, Regina."

Letting out a faint, mirthless laugh, Regina rubbed her thumb over Emma's and shook her head. "I'm afraid that in this world, as far as I'm concerned, there's no such thing. Perhaps I didn't hurt those people last night, but I hurt countless others when I was here before."

"You're different now," Emma protested weakly.

"Yes," Regina nodded gravely, "but my crimes still stand. The lives I took, the pain I inflicted, the misery I caused. And I never paid for it in the eyes of all those who have returned here. Don't you think it's about time I did?"

"No!" Emma breathed, aghast. "Not like this, Regina. Not paying for something you didn't do – not when there's someone out there who **has** hurt people and who **did** rip out their hearts."

She saw how Regina winced at the mention of it, the violence of the act trickling through language to remind her of all that she'd been, once upon a time. At the back of her mind, Emma wondered at how she'd almost done the same thing, how those marks on Regina's chest pushed guilt into her stomach, sitting there like a hard, heavy stone.

"Doesn't it even matter to you?" Emma asked in a broken, disconsolate tone. "Finding out who did it, proving your worth to everyone?"

Regina smiled sadly and shook her head. "They'll never love me," she told Emma. "It doesn't matter how much I try, or what we do. I'm nothing to them."

"So show them that you are," Emma insisted. "You have magic, Regina. **Use** it. Break out of here and show them that you're right." She reached through the bars and cupped the other woman's face in her hand, tenderness overwhelmed by desperation, her throat closing with tears.

"Please don't do this," she whispered. "Don't leave me alone."

A sympathetic expression flooded Regina's features as she gazed into Emma's eyes, seeing in them all the loneliness that was constantly at their backs. It blossomed in her chest, painful and throbbing with an ache that would simply not abate and she bent over it for a second, drawing in breath to gather the strength she knew she needed.

"Whoever did this," she finally said, lifting her head and speaking slowly, carefully, "wanted to hurt me. Expose me for who and what I am. Just like in Storybrooke. In the end, Emma, it doesn't really matter what world we live in; I can't run away from my past or the things I did. Isn't it about time I accepted that?"

"**No**," Emma said through gritted teeth, shaking her head to dispel the tears that prickled at the back of her eyes. "You might accept it, Regina, but I don't. I can't. What about Henry? What about our family?"

"Henry has you," Regina told her in a voice that was soothing, despite the underlying pain it carried. "He won't be alone. Neither of you will and that's…that's really all I want for you both."

"And what about what we want?" Emma growled, snatching her hands away from Regina and stepping away from the bars. "What about what we **need**?"

"What would you have me do, Emma?" Regina's arms closed over her chest and she lifted her chin, eyes glittering in the half-light. "Tear down these walls and force this world to bend to my will again? You have no idea what poisonous thoughts I've had since they put me in here; how much I've wanted to do just that."

"Then why don't you? You're innocent, Regina. I was with you all night. I would have remembered if you'd rampaged through the forest attacking people!" Emma threw her hands up in the air and stalked a few paces away from the cell before turning on her heel and marching back towards the bars.

"This is so stupid," she barked. "I'm getting you out of here. We're going to make them see that this is wrong."

She grasped the bars, summoning up magic and feeling it wash through her, a shimmering tide that flooded down through her veins towards her hands. Emma's grip tightened and she felt the bars begin to move under Regina's astonished, appalled gaze. Lips pressing into a determined line, Emma willed all her strength into her touch and she could feel it burgeoning inside her, like an unstoppable, unquantifiable force that could, quite literally, break the bars into pieces.

"Stop."

Fingers curled around one of her wrists and Emma looked at Regina. The other woman shook her head, chest heaving as magic met magic. For all the times they'd joined their powers together, Emma had never felt Regina using her might to quell the magic inside her. She felt it now, though: a barrier, an invisible brick wall that prevented her from moving the bars. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she pushed harder, but Emma could see that Regina was pushing back, more potent and powerful and more focused than her own magical abilities.

"Emma, stop," Regina forced out, lips trembling with her exertions. "You have to stop."

"I can't," Emma hissed, as perspiration began to trickle past her temples. "I have to – I have to – "

"No. You don't."

Regina's voice was inside her head, rather than in the air around her. It was a gentle plea, a soft caress of understanding and acceptance. It was peace and comfort and joy – all the things that Emma had craved for so long that, feeling them now was a reminder of how great and endless love could really be. She looked into Regina's eyes, her own widening as she felt the truest source of power within her. And it wasn't magic at all.

It was love.

Flinging herself away from the prison bars, Emma staggered backwards, magic seeping uselessly into the ether before dissipating completely. A loud cry emerged from her mouth, echoing around the dungeon, reaching every dark corner and filling it with the pain that exploded in Emma's chest.

Now the tears came. Now the hurt and futility of all hit her. As she bent forwards, clutching her fists to her stomach, Emma knew that magic wasn't anything without emotion to guide it. And when it came to Regina, to Henry and to their small, tight family unit, Emma knew that she simply had too much of it to contain. Sobbing, she wondered if this was how Regina had felt; if the void inside her heart was filled up with blackness that had, in the end, consumed her.

Anger was easy. It was love that was difficult.

Shoulders hitching over her tears, Emma swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand and looked at Regina, standing silently behind the bars between them.

"I'm gonna find out who did this," she said with a jerk of her head. "You won't be here forever."

"I know, dear." It was hard to tell whether Regina was offering platitudes or faith, but Emma returned the other woman's smile as the unspoken deal they'd made was brokered, agreed.

At the far end of the dungeon, one of the metal gates opened with an agonizing squeal and two guards marched down the corridor towards Regina's cell. Their pace was hasty; their agitation evident and before she even had chance to question them, one guard was unlocking the door to Regina's prison and reaching inside it, iron cuffs in his hand.

"Wait – " Emma grabbed the other guard by the arm and swung him around to look at her. "Where are you taking her? What's going on?"

As Regina was unceremoniously shuffled out of her cell, in chains once more and the rough hand of the other guard at her back, Emma's eyes flew open in terrified anticipation.

"Tell me what's going on," she demanded.

"There are visitors at the gate," the guard said gruffly, as Regina was pushed in front of them and towards the outer door of the dungeon. "They want to see the queen."

XxxXxx

The courtyard at Snow's castle was lined with uniformed guards as Emma, Regina and the two soldiers emerged into sunshine. Blinking rapidly and holding up her hand to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight, it took Emma a few seconds to fully appreciate the small group gathered on the stone cobbles. Her parents, standing close together, as always, with Grumpy and the other dwarves behind them, made a human shield between her and whoever these visitors were.

Regina didn't protest as Snow's guards shoved her forwards, even though as she stumbled, it was the queen herself who moved forwards, sliding her hand around Regina's elbow and steadying her. A look of confusion crossed Regina's features until she righted herself and looked at the coterie who had gained entry to the castle grounds.

Then, she froze. And it was only by virtue of Snow's grasp on her that she was able to stand at all.

It wasn't until a small body pressed himself against her side that Regina was able to breathe again. She sucked in a huge lungful of air and let it out as slowly and calmly as she could, looking down at the boy by her side with tenderness.

"Henry," she said softly, the chains around her wrists clanking together as she lifted her hand to touch his cheek with tremulous fingers. "Oh, Henry, you shouldn't be here."

"I told them!" he said breathlessly, hugging her waist and burying his face into her side for a moment. "I told them you didn't do it but they – they wouldn't believe me!"

"I know, dear," Regina patted his head as he drew back from her, looking over the top of it to where Snow and Charming stood close by. Snow's eyes met her own, unspoken apology widening them. But Regina knew it was too late for that now. It was too late for much of what they'd said and promised and held dear to be of any use now.

Emma pushed forwards until she was by Regina's side, confusion deep and heavy in her green eyes. She looked at her parents, then back to the woman next to her, mouth opening in question even before she knew what to ask.

"There she is," a strident voice rang out in the courtyard. King George, with enough of his own soldiers behind him to make an imposing, threatening figure, stepped forwards and smiled disingenuously.

"I have to say, Regina, you've looked better," he commented with a smirk that earned him some derisive laughter from his guards.

"Say what you have to say, George," Charming growled, his face set in hard lines.

"I didn't come here to make speeches, Charming." George threw a glare towards his erstwhile adopted son and waved his hand in the air.

"Then why are you here?" Snow demanded. "And why is **she** here?"

It was only as she pointed to a figure standing behind George, almost obscured by him, that Emma noticed someone else. A woman who only now took a few paces forwards, revealing herself to the group in all her corseted, silken glory.

"Consider this our first act of war," George threw out his hand and even had the temerity to offer a tiny, courteous bow towards Snow and Charming. "And consider her my secret weapon." He looked at the woman beside him and she gave a tight smile but her eyes remained cold, heartless, fixed on Regina.

"Secret weapon?" Emma frowned, moving closer to Regina. "Who is she?"

Regina took a shaky breath, swallowed it and tried to stand as tall as she was able. But those eyes fixated on her sent a cold chill of dread down her spine. And her lips felt numbed as she tried to make the words come out.

"She's my mother," Regina whispered.

"Regina, darling," Cora said, her lips stretching into an affectionate smile that was once all Regina had yearned for and now feared above all else. "I'm so happy to see you."


	17. Chapter 17

Part 17

Two large, dark birds wheeled overhead, their harsh cries a distant sound that echoed in the courtyard below. Catching sight of them out of the corner of her eye, Regina wondered if they were her mother's emissaries; Cora had taken wicked delight in communicating with animals in the same way Snow did. But where Snow's ability was innate, Cora's was hard-learned. Regina remembered that, as a child, she'd always thought her mother's use of magic was prideful, wanton. It was casually cruel, used to its own end in whatever forceful way was necessary. There was no reason to suggest her mother would not do to animals what she'd done to Regina all those years ago in order to assert her control.

Regina spied dark clouds rushing in to obliterate the blue sky and mute the sun overhead. The creatures of the forest and the birds of the air had their own loyalties. And not all of them were pledged to Snow in the tug-of-war between good and evil. So those black stains on the sky above her might be there for their own gain; to pick over the spoils of war and feast on whatever carrion it might leave for them. They could probably sense the blood that had not yet been shed: a war not yet won. But whether they would lend themselves to odds that were increasingly against the thrust of good in this world wasn't yet evident.

And neither was her mother's involvement in all of this.

But that was what this world thrived on, after all, wasn't it? In the end, everyone had to choose a side; had to show their allegiance; had to decide once and for all who they were going to fight for, fight against. Regina knew more than anyone what fine line it was between justice and revenge and had teetered on that line as a young woman, appalled by what her mother could do and yet fascinated by the same powers when they were offered to her.

Choosing wisely, however, had never really been Regina's forte. She'd allowed her heart to rule her head. Emotion had made her impulsive, murderous, hotheaded in ways that were guided by loss and pain. Everything she'd ever done had been borne from an attempt to stop the hurt.

But not Cora. No. Cora was – and remained so – liberated from the chains that emotion tightened around Regina's heart. As free as the birds above their heads and as darkly greedy, too. Because not feeling anything other than the drive and thrust of ambition, power and control had, in a way, been what saved Cora.

Regina knew that without a heart, one could do almost anything and not grieve over it. Not feel the sting of remorse or the sanctity of love. Without a heart, there was really no reason to care at all. So as she met her mother's gaze head on, Regina knew that the side Cora had chosen was the same one she'd always been on: her own.

The tension in the courtyard was palpable. Other than the birds, rising and falling in a lazy circle and marking time with their cries, there was little other sound. A rising wind dipped down into the courtyard, puffing clouds of dust across the cobbles. George's smile was wide and he looked at Charming with pre-emptive triumph already burning in his gaze, met with a stubborn, barely restrained anger that had Charming's hand clenching around the hilt of his sword.

But it was to Cora that Snow, Emma and Regina looked. The three women whose fates were intertwined and had been destined so to be from long before they were all born. Instinctively, they moved closer together, a mere step on the cobbles of the courtyard, but enough to make Cora's eyebrows rise a little above her steely eyes.

"Snow, dear," she said in a silken tone, a warm smile stretching her lips but never quite reaching her gaze. "You're looking well. Tell me, did you get the gift I left for you in that little shack outside the forest?"

Bile rose in Snow's throat and she gasped. "The hearts," she said, with a sideways glance at Regina, in chains and paying for a crime she didn't commit. Not this time.

"That's right," Cora nodded politely. "Consider it a calling card, if you will. I was the Queen of Hearts for a long time. And, well, we all know just how proficient Regina was at following in her mother's footsteps."

There was an expression of something like pride that slid over Cora's features and she smiled indulgently at Regina, who frowned and gazed down at the stone beneath her feet. It was a wicked inheritance; shameful and filled with nothing but evil intent. To be so publicly exonerated should have brought her some peace, but it was turmoil that raged in her gut as she pictured the vault beneath Cora's house, filled with the hearts of those unsuspecting victims that her mother had violated.

"What do you want, Cora?" Snow demanded, but her voice quivered enough for Cora's smile to broaden and she clasped her hands together in front of her exquisite, ornate dress.

"There's no need to be so aggressive, Snow," she said, taking a few steps forwards, out of George's shadow and into the space left between the two opposing groups in the middle of the courtyard. "This is cause for celebration."

"You choosing to ally yourself with **him**," Snow pointed a gloved finger towards George, who appeared impassive to any and all accusations and merely folded his arms over her chest, staring at her, "is no cause for celebration."

"I see the child is all grown up," Cora remarked in a mocking tone. "And still as woefully misguided as you were all those years ago when first we met."

"It's not misguided to strive for good," Snow spat, face contorted in anger. Because without Cora, without Regina, her parents might have lived. The good in their hearts might have lived, too. And, she glanced sideways at Regina, frozen in horror, the good in Regina's heart might never have been perverted into something dark, wicked and hurtful.

Cora's mouth formed a mocking little moue at Snow's words and she tilted her head to one side in a gesture of transparent sympathy. "Oh," she sighed reproachfully, "and you always were such a **good** little girl, weren't you? Even at the expense of your mother's life. Tell me, dear, how on earth is letting your own mother die anything even approaching good?"

Scorn dripped from her tone and Snow tensed, clenching her back teeth together. Oh yes, she'd been _so_ good, _so_ dutiful, always wanting to do what was right. As a child, it had been the fear of guilt resting on her shoulders that had forced her to make difficult decisions. But as an adult, Snow knew that in the greater scheme of things, the harder path to follow was the one where mistakes could be made and atoned for. Where guilt wasn't so much alleviated but indulged.

It hit her, then: how avoiding transgressions didn't always mean one was doing it for the right reasons. And how, in the notion of what was truly good and right, forgiveness was surely the better part of valor.

She looked at Regina, standing next to her. She'd once thought that Regina was the font of all the wickedness in her world. But before that, she'd also thought that Regina was the source of a lot of the good, too.

Snow's chest ached suddenly and she clenched her hands into fists, swallowing hard. It was much harder to offer retribution for one's crimes than it was to avoid them altogether. Resisting temptation was easier than apologizing for giving in to it. And if Regina was really, sorry for what she'd done, then perhaps it was now, in the shadow of her mother's presence, that Snow truly realized it.

"No matter," Cora said dismissively, waving her hand in the air. "I didn't come here for you, Snow. George and his army will take care of you and your little band of do-gooders."

"Over my dead body!" Charming growled, and Cora let out a light, horribly brittle laugh.

"What an inviting prospect," she replied, all artifice falling from her features, leaving her face stony, made of sharp edges and threats that hung in the air for a moment.

"Stop it, mother!"

Regina's voice was strangled, tight like the grasp Cora had over her. She could feel it now: the nervous anxiety that prickled through her body despite all the years she'd sought to forget it. Forget _her_.

But that, like happiness, had proved impossible to achieve.

"What do you want?" Regina met her mother's gaze head on and cursed herself inwardly for trembling. But she set her jaw and straightened her shoulders; even in the cotton shift they'd made her wear in Snow's jail, she made for a regal figure.

Cora frowned at her, taking in the dreary clothing and the protective stance of the women on either side of her daughter.

"What I've always wanted," she answered simply. "You, darling."

Emma heard the strangled sob that caught in Regina's throat and reached out, but Regina moved away from her, the shackles around her wrists clanking woefully as she swallowed hard and faced her mother.

"You weren't supposed to be here," she said, meeting Cora's gimlet gaze and trying to ignore the prickle of fear down her spine. "You were supposed to be – "

"Dead?" Cora intoned, eyebrows raised. "Well as you can see, I'm not quite **that**." She held out her arms, moving forwards a few paces and displaying herself with a brazen gait. But it was Regina's gaze that she held, seeing in it all the fear, loathing and regret that had made her daughter so malleable in the past. The thing Cora counted on – the one thing she'd _always_ counted on – was there, too. Love. Pain. The inability to stop craving her mother's love, even if she'd been poisoned by it.

"I've crossed worlds to find you," Cora said softly, her voice carrying a plaintive, gentle note that pulled at the corners of Regina's mouth. "I've waited decades, hoping that once your curse was broken, you'd return to me. To our world, Regina. And it's a world that can be ours in **every** sense, if you'd come back to me."

"No…I don't want that." Regina forced the words out over the sickening feeling rising in her throat.

"You'd rather stay with these people after what they've done to you?" Cora's head jerked back on her neck as she swept a hand around the courtyard. "They bring you to me in chains looking like a pauper. You're a queen, Regina!"

"I'm **not**," Regina darted back, brows knitting together in repudiation of the title her mother had always wanted so much more than she herself. "Not anymore. I'm – I'm nothing."

For a moment, it looked as though Cora was growing angry. Her gaze hardened, her mouth tightened and she stared at her daughter with such intensity that Regina wondered if she'd quite simply burst into flames and be turned to ashes under her mother's ire. But then Cora smiled: a thin slash of red across her face and lifted her hand, fingers trailing an arc in the air.

Regina's chains fell with a dull clank to the ground at her feet and she was free once more. She looked at Cora, who was holding out her arms like some parody of a loving parent and moving towards her across the stone cobbles of the courtyard.

No, Regina thought grimly. She wasn't free. Wouldn't ever be. Not while chains of a different kind were encircling her heart and holding it fast.

"I forgive you," Cora said, approaching Regina with all the compassion in the world painted across her features. "And I want you to forgive me. I should never have made you marry the king. I was wrong and I'm sorry."

Somewhere behind her, Regina heard Snow gasp a little, perhaps even stifle a sob. It had _all_ been wrong. Leopold wasn't a good husband to her, and she had failed him as a wife before they'd even been wed. A marriage of convenience – but for whom? Certainly not Regina. The only person who'd really stood to benefit from that union had been Cora.

_And Snow_, Regina thought with a latent pang of resentment. The child's innocence had been preserved, protected. Her own had been unceremoniously dismantled with every lecherous visit Leopold made in the dead of night and the baby that had barely lived inside her before it died and took her hope with it.

"It will be different this time," Cora murmured, close enough to Regina now so that when she reached out, her fingertips trailed over her daughter's arm.

Regina shivered and shook her head, wanting to back away and yet yearning to feel her mother's touch. "There is no 'this time', mother," she said in a low voice. "I don't want to be her again. I don't want to…I don't want to be you."

Cora chuckled and tilted her head to one side, looking at Regina rather curiously. "You can be something new, darling. Something greater than any of us can possibly imagine. But you'll have to leave this place. Come with me. Please let me make it up to you, Regina. All those years we spent apart have given me time to think. And I want to make it up to you. After all, I love you."

Regina's mouth opened and she knew that words of response were on her tongue. They always had been. And she would say them over and over as a young woman to beg for her mother's clemency and affection. It was always held as something she needed to earn, and yet here it was being freely given. The lip service her mother paid to ensure that Regina was compliant.

With a sinking heart, Regina knew that were she to say those words to Cora, then all that she'd sought to escape would be upon her once more. And all that had blackened her heart before would engulf it again and kill the newness that existed there now.

But still she wanted it. Shamefully, she acknowledged the desperate sway towards a woman who had belittled her and reduced her to nothing until a monster had sprung from the ashes of a life that had, quite simply, burned away before her eyes. And whatever Cora had done, whatever she'd encouraged Regina to be, she was still her mother. Still the woman whose love Regina craved, in whatever form it chose to manifest itself.

"Well, this is all very touching," George's voice boomed and Regina blinked, shaking her head and coming to her senses. "But family reunions aside, aren't we here for rather more pressing matters?"

Cora turned to look at him and he lifted his eyebrows, chin jutting out in silent question. Patience had never really been his strong point, and he was eager to enter into the fray, to move past this ridiculous show and regain what he believed was truly his.

"I'm not interested in your skirmishes, George," Cora barked. "You can fight your war however you please. The only reason I agreed to ally myself with you was to get my daughter back."

"Well here she is," George said equivocally. Then he leaned forwards, a malicious grin on his lips. "She doesn't look particularly open to the idea of going with you, however. Is mother dearest losing her touch?"

"Be quiet!" Cora hissed, and this time George sensed the threat in her tone. Disgruntled but wise enough to know when retreat was necessary, he folded his arms over his chest and said no more.

"Going where?" Charming frowned, looking between Cora and George, his hand still firmly grasping the hilt of his sword. "And how does this benefit **you**?" he jerked his head towards his erstwhile father.

The way Cora rolled her eyes was almost audible and she let out a brittle, dismissive laugh, glancing back at George. "Not the brightest star in the sky, is he?" she said, as George pursed his lips and glowered at Charming.

"My daughter," Cora announced, as though it was some sort of accolade, "is the most powerful being in all the realm. In all the land, now that Rumpelstiltskin is gone."

"That's right," Cora nodded, looking around at the gathered group. "I know he didn't return with you. Which makes my daughter your most dangerous weapon. Remove her from the equation, and George's army will easily win this little battle of yours. Without Regina, you have little more than fairydust to sprinkle on the corpses of your soldiers and really, what use is that, after all?"

"They don't just have Regina."

Emma had listened carefully. But, more to the point, she had watched even more so. She'd always taken for granted the ability to read other people; always relied on her instincts about them to inform her of how they truly felt. Her connection to Regina, however, rooted in the love they shared and the magic that crackled between them, was more than instinctual. It ran through the very fiber of her being. So the subtle changes, however infinitesimal, had sent panic racing through her chest.

She'd seen how Regina wilted under her mother's gaze; how she'd stiffened with fear and the knowledge that the ghosts who haunted her past were now present, in more ways than one. Emma didn't know much about good parents, but she was more than able to spot a bad one. After all, she'd had enough of them herself: people who had positioned themselves in her life and sought to teach her through censure and punishment. As she moved to stand beside Regina, Cora's gaze swept up and down her body and Emma felt herself recoil. In the end, whatever Regina had or hadn't said about this woman didn't really matter because the waves of feeling coming off Cora were smothering in their fetid thickness. It wasn't even evil, Emma told herself, that she felt in Cora's stare and the faint sneer that pulled at her mouth. It was simply…_nothing_. An absence of feeling. A black, empty void.

Cora's eyebrow quirked in amusement. "And who is this?" she asked in a light tone.

"She's the Savior, mother," Regina said with a tiny sigh. "Snow's daughter."

Blinking in surprise, Cora looked curiously at Emma once again before delicately pressing a hand to her chest and bursting into loud laughter. She half-turned to look at George, who nodded in affirmation of Regina's claim, but that only seemed to make her laugh harder. Her eyes glittered as she turned back to her daughter and Emma and it was a minute before she regained enough breath to speak.

"**You**?" she spluttered. "**You're** the Savior?"

"Yeah," Emma said grimly. "That was pretty much my reaction too."

"You broke the curse?" Cora asked, somewhat incredulous. Because this wasn't the Savior she'd anticipated. The creature standing far too close to her daughter was a child. Nothing more than a child. A displaced, lost little girl, much like Regina had been all those years ago.

"Well it was kind of a joint effort," Emma muttered, with a sidelong glance at Regina. But the other woman didn't appear to have heard her; in fact, Regina didn't appear to be aware of anything other than her mother, who was approaching with something of a swaggering, confident tread. "But," Emma sighed, shrugging a little, "I'm the Savior. And I have magic. Regina's been teaching me what she knows."

"**Has** she indeed?" Cora glanced at her daughter and a cold smile curved her lips. "I see she's also been teaching you some of her own bad habits. You dress like a man, Savior."

"It's Emma," the blonde countered, nostrils flaring a little, and she clenched her hands into fists down by her side. "And I dress how I like. You see, I believe in free will rather than conforming to someone else's idea of who and what I should be."

"Oh, **do** you?" Cora was condescending as she drew to a halt just in front of Regina. Leaning forwards, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and noticed how her daughter flinched at her proximity. "She's a little rough around the edges, don't you think, dear?"

Regina said nothing, but her lips hardened into a tight line as she felt Emma bristle beside her. There was no outcome to this that would benefit anyone; she knew her mother only too well. Cora was delicately stepping her way through the conversation, assessing, evaluating, scheming as she went. And if Emma lost her temper, lost control of her magic and allowed it to burst forth, then Cora would retaliate accordingly. Memories of what her mother was capable of flickered through Regina's mind like images on old film and she shuddered. Cora used magic to bend others to her will, no matter how much it took to finally break them. And Regina had done exactly the same, been exactly the same.

One of the birds overhead let out a sudden, grated cry and Regina jumped a little, blinking rapidly and swallowing hard. Whatever the reason her mother was here – despite the plans she'd made and the demise she'd orchestrated for Cora under Rumpelstiltskin's tutelage – Regina was determined that she would do whatever it took to keep Emma and Henry safe. Whatever it required or demanded. Because she simply couldn't expose them to the sort of magic her mother wielded, nor could she allow them to be similarly ruined by Cora's own special brand of motherly love, as she had.

"Mother," she said firmly, lifting her chin defiantly and watching as Cora appeared faintly amused by it, "there's nothing here for you. I'm sorry, but – "

"**You're** here for me," Cora interrupted, reaching out and finally touching her daughter on the arm. Regina shivered at the contact as her mother's fingers closed around her flesh. "Regina, you're my daughter. You belong to me."

"No, she doesn't." In all the ways that Regina was weakened by Cora's closeness, Emma seemed strengthened by it. She straightened, sliding her hand into Regina's and linking their fingers together, squeezing with all the fortitude that the other woman simply didn't have.

"Regina doesn't belong **to** anyone," Emma said in a low, warning tone. "But she does belong **with** someone. She belongs here, with us. With me and Henry."

Cora's gaze traveled down the length of Regina's arm to where her hand was clasped tightly in Emma's, and she stared for a long minute before understanding dawned over the planes of her face. A flurry of reactions followed and played out over her features before she finally looked up, snatching her hand away from Regina's arm.

"I see that a child isn't the only new thing you acquired in that other world," Cora said tightly. "But really, Regina, the daughter of Snow White?" Her lips formed a moue of distaste and she could tell from the way that Snow and Charming stiffened that they weren't exactly overjoyed about the union either. _Interesting_, she thought, locking away the knowledge in her mind for later use, should it prove to serve her well in any way.

"I love her, mother," Regina said, but her voice was little more than a broken whisper and Cora shook her head in response, waving a hand dismissively in the air.

"Love," she said disparagingly. "That's the excuse you use for making such poor choices in life, just like you did the last time you claimed to be in love. You're destined for **so** much more than love, Regina. You always were. But you needed me to help you see that. And, thankfully, it looks as though I came here at just the right time to help you see it again."

Perhaps it was the past, looming up to drag her back into the dimly lit stable where her own heart had been decimated as she'd witnessed Daniel's death, or perhaps it was her present, standing beside her and refusing to let go of her hand. Either way, Regina felt fear cast a hoar frost inside her chest, spreading icy tendrils around her ribs and curling over her heart, clenching it with a cold fist. Instinctively, she moved in front of Emma, shielding the blonde with her own body. If her mother planned to dispatch Emma the same way she'd done Daniel, then Regina was resolute that, this time, Cora would have to go through her first.

"I didn't have magic then, mother," Regina said. "But I do now." The inherent threat in her words lifted Cora's eyebrows and she looked almost admiring of Regina's spirit. But amusement colored her features as she smiled at her daughter and she suppressed the urge to laugh again because this was all so ridiculous, in the end. All so pointless. Just as it had been before.

Cora couldn't quite decide what disgusted her more: that her own daughter would use magic against her, or that she'd do it to protect the Savior-child that she claimed to love.

"Leave my moms alone!"

A shrill voice made Cora's head jerk back on her neck as Henry marched out from behind both Emma and Regina. He was shaking, but whether with fear or anger, nobody could tell. His courage, however, was undeniable and even Cora eyed him with some vague admiration as he clung to Regina's side, putting his arms around her waist. Cora could only watch as Regina smoothed her hand over his hair, such a simple gesture but one that spoke volumes about the affection Regina was able to feel that she herself never had.

It made her angry, resentful somehow. The needless caring and careful need that a child necessarily inserted into one's life had always tried her patience when Regina had been growing up. Every ounce of maternal love had been measured, weighed and applied sparingly in order to keep Regina on a leash that allowed her to go only so far towards independence before it snapped tight, reminding her who was really in control. Cora had worked hard to instill a sense of deserving love into Regina, to encourage her daughter to work hard for it. Indeed, it wasn't an absence of love that had directed Cora's hand in raising her daughter. It was a surfeit of it.

But it had never manifested itself in the way that Regina was looking down at Henry, bending slightly to whisper something in his ear that made his arms tighten around her waist. There was a tenderness to her daughter that had typified her teenage years, disappointed and near-disgusted Cora. But then, Regina had always allowed her emotions to guide her – and Cora had relied on that nature to save the life of Snow White. Seeing it again now rankled in her gut and painted a sneer across her lips because affection and love, like magic, came at a price. It had to be earned. And yet here Regina was, surrounded by love and giving it away freely without demanding recompense.

It was wrong, Cora thought to herself. Love was a commodity, not a right.

"Just leave us all alone, Cora." Snow shifted on the cobbles, her eyes bright with a hardness that Cora didn't recognize. Clearly, many things had changed in the years between then and now. Many people, too.

"I'd be happy to, Snow." There was a lilting note to Cora's voice that brought Regina's head snapping back up. This was where the deal would be struck. Or, she reminded herself, hands would be forced. Hearts, too, if she knew her mother as well as she thought she did. For a moment, Cora met her gaze and Regina stared at her mother, pleading with all her heart for some sort of love, some sort of forgiveness and promise that had always been so far out of reach.

"I just want my daughter," Cora said. "You understand how that feels, don't you, Snow?"

"You **had** Regina," Snow darted back, eyes wide and appalled. "You hurt her with your sort of motherly love. This isn't the same thing at all!"

"Isn't it?" Cora asked innocently. "You love your daughter in your way, dear. I'll love Regina in mine. I'm still her mother, and that's something which will never change. And now I've asked politely, I think you should know that I won't take no for an answer."

"Except you will," Emma stepped out from behind Regina, twisting her arm so that her hand quite literally unfurled until it was open, palm up. A fireball sputtered to life, appearing so suddenly that Henry gasped aloud and stared agog at Emma.

"She's not going anywhere," Emma continued, as the magical flames licked up and down her fingers, tingling with the power that she was barely keeping at bay. It had rumbled under the surface of her skin since the moment when Cora's threatening presence became apparent, making Emma angry and afraid. It wasn't what should fuel her power, she knew that, yet she couldn't stop those feelings from surging up in her chest as she faced Cora with a dangerous look in her eyes. "You're not going to take her away from us."

She extended her arm so that the fireball reflected in Cora's eyes, turning the light in them to dark flames as the older woman looked between her daughter and the Savior. _How ironic_, Cora thought, with a sneering bark of mirthless laughter. How pitiful that Regina, the Evil Queen of legend should be undone by _this_…this _child_ of hope and true love. She wanted so much more for her daughter than the tableau that stood before her now, a makeshift family that Regina clearly believed could be her salvation.

"Is that meant to frighten me, Savior?" Cora hissed, mouth turning upwards in a rictus grin.

"It's meant to keep you away from my family," Emma said, the ball of fire in her hand pulsing with magical light.

"And who's going to keep you away from mine, hm?" Cora mused, before flicking her wrist and sending Emma flying backwards. She landed awkwardly against the phalanx of guards, some of whom had drawn their weapons, most of whom were gazing in abject horror at Cora's lazy, dismissive use of magic. Emma let out a cry as she hit the ground, hearing a sickening crunch as her arm broke her fall. Dazed, she waved off a couple of guards who bent to help her up. She had to do this on her own, or it wouldn't matter at all.

"Mother!" Regina cried out in a high-pitched voice that echoed her younger self. "Don't, please!"

Lifting up her hand to summon more magic, Cora looked at her daughter. In a split second, Regina saw all that the woman had been, all that she'd desired and wanted from her. Her mother: the one woman in her life who had changed her forever. The woman whose love she had begged for, tried to earn, believing it was a grace offered only to those who were good and obedient. And oh, she'd tried so hard to please Cora; years of excelling at her studies, years of riding lessons, music lessons, anything to earn approval from a woman who had punished the goodness out of her and criticized the humanity that Regina simply couldn't eradicate from her heart.

She felt it beat wildly in her chest as Cora smiled at her, and then Regina saw the cruelty, too. That thing her mother called love: that prickly, sharp-edged, unreliable emotion that had been a poor supplement for something Cora simply couldn't feel. Not for her. Not for a daughter who strived to deserve it and wondered why she was unlovable. And yet, Cora called it love – that strong, wicked emotion that had dictated a life engineered to make Regina miserable. It shone in Cora's eyes as she waved her hand in the air once more, trailing bright, sparkling light behind it.

The chains that had been around Regina's wrists rose up from the ground, slowly at first, turning in the air. Then they whipped past Regina and wrapped themselves around Henry's body, pinning his arms to his sides. Now he too lifted off the cobbles on the courtyard to the sound of Snow and Charming's roared protestations. Some of the guards rushed forwards, their spears aimed at Cora, but were repelled with little more than a crook of her finger, falling like dominoes against one another.

With a cry of anger, Emma staggered to her feet and watched as Henry was magically hoisted above their heads. Her head ached and she was pretty sure she'd dislocated her shoulder; cradling one arm against her chest, she rushed forwards again, fire leaping from her fingertips and arching through the air towards where Cora stood in placid calm.

It was deflected easily; this time Emma was sent skidding across the cobbles and had the sense to stay down until she could at least catch her breath properly. When she did, she pushed herself up on her good elbow, biting her lip against the pain flooding through her body, trying to scramble to her feet.

"Regina!" she screamed. "Do something!"

But Regina was transfixed by the sight of Henry, bound and clearly in pain as the chains tightened around his body, snaking across his chest under Cora's silent instruction. Her mouth opened in horror at the strained expression on Henry's face as he wriggled and kicked out, all movement futile. She knew all too well how that felt; knew how each flex of her mother's fingers pulled those bonds a little tighter, a little harder. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed up at her son and his eyes met hers in a silent plea as he tried to call out to her and couldn't, the words trapped in his throat.

She wanted to tell him that it was useless to struggle. She wanted to tell him that compliance, submission, simply giving in was the only possible course of action. Regina wanted to tell him so many things but found that memories surged up to quiet her, too many memories of this, of other times, of other punishments that had sought to quell her spirit and keep her firmly entrenched in her mother's will. All the strength she'd ever had seeped from her body as she gasped and pressed a fist to her chest. The chains around Henry's body might just have well been wrapped around her own heart, the pain was so great.

"Mom?" Henry's voice was reed-thin, squeezed from between his lips. He took a breath with difficulty, his face pulled into hurtful lines. "Mommy, help me."

Regina blinked. This wasn't her own life playing out before her. This was Henry. Her son. The thing she loved the most.

Whirling around, Regina moved towards her mother with a renewed purpose. Because she knew exactly what she had to do. She knew exactly what Cora wanted and she also knew how to give it to her. She always had done.

"Mother, stop it," she said. "Let him down and stop it."

Cora let out a little laugh, clenching her fingers until Henry let out a piercing cry of pain that seemed to please her greatly.

"I'll stop it when you start being an obedient daughter," she said, a glitter of triumph already in her gaze. "You've been too bad for too long, Regina. Do you really think that love can offer you redemption after all the things you've done? Do you think they'll forgive you for it? These Charmings and their little family?"

She laughed again and shook her head, lips pursing in a parody of pity. "They don't love you like I do, Regina. Nobody can and nobody will. I've always wanted what's best for you. Come with me, darling, and we can forget all of this. We can be a real family again, just like we used to be."

Another twist of her fingers brought another shriek from Henry. Regina bent over the hurt in her stomach; it sliced through everything in a clean, fatal line, cutting through despondent years and reducing her to little more than the child she used to be. And she knew in that moment that her own life was and always had been Cora's. That the love a parent had for a child was forged in what they were prepared to do.

And Regina would do anything – everything – for Henry.

Decades of identity fell away, shed like granulating skin that she'd layered over her grief, anger and pain. Beneath it all, the open wound of all that had been lost between her and Cora began to throb, opening up and bleeding pain through every nerve ending in her body. A child belonged with its mother. It was irrefutable fact.

"Please," she began to sob. "Please don't hurt him, mother. I love him."

"I know," Cora nodded solemnly. "And love is weakness, darling. This boy? His mother? They are yours."

Her hand was little more than a fist now, fingers curled against her palm and Henry let out another cry but it gurgled in his throat, his cheeks turning red. Below him in the courtyard, Charming unsheathed his sword and held it high in the air.

"Enough!" he shouted, his face contorted into a mask of rage. But the moment he made to hurl himself towards Cora, he was halted by a sheen of magic that shone a silvery outline around his body.

This time, however, it came from Regina. Hand raised in the air, she held it for a moment until he could see her eyes and the sharp little shake of her head. Then she lowered her hand, the magic dissipating. Charming stood back, breathing heavily. And he wondered at the back of his mind how it could be that a surge of trust rose suddenly in his chest. He frowned, confused, and his sword fell down by his side. Because in Regina's eyes he'd seen the sharp acuity of determination that characterized her and thrust fear into the hearts of those who opposed her. But he'd also seen fear, wild and unfettered and terrifyingly real.

He felt it echo in his breast and knew that sheer force of might and the edge of his sword couldn't resolve this. This was contained in the magic that Cora had, that was suspending his grandson above their heads and was striking such horror into the woman who had once wanted to destroy them all.

Regina wasn't an Evil Queen. Of that, Charming was certain as he watched her turn back to face Cora, trembling a little. No; Regina was a parent. And just as he had been willing to give his own life to save Emma all those years ago, Charming could see the same resolve on Regina's face now.

"Let him go, mother," Regina said quietly, drawing close to Cora. "Let him go – let **all** of them be unharmed and I'll come with you."

"No!"

Emma cried out, wincing in pain as she tenderly held her injured arm against her body and staggered forwards a few paces. "Regina, for god's sake, what are you doing?"

"I'm saving you," Regina said, never once breaking eye contact with Cora. "I'm saving **all** of you."

"Not gonna happen," Emma asserted, flinging out her arm and almost dropping to her knees as a bolt of pain shot through her. Swallowing over the rising nausea in her throat, she shook her head and sucked in a huge lungful of air to steady herself. "Regina, we've got magic. Two against one. We can end this now."

"No," Regina said, shaking her head. "I killed her once. I won't do it again."

"But she's – "

"She's my **mother**," Regina said emphatically, and now she turned to look at Emma. Their eyes met, a dreadful, tacit understanding passing between them. "She won't stop, Emma. Not until she has me. It's the only way to keep you safe."

The chains around Henry loosened, falling to the courtyard with a dull clang. He slowly drifted down towards the ground, Snow darting forwards to catch him in her arms as he swayed and collapsed against her.

"That's my girl," Cora said lovingly, placing her palm against Regina's cheek. "These people don't matter, darling. Let them wage war with King George. The outcome will only be to our advantage."

She drew her hand down Regina's skin, fingers tracing a caress that slid beneath her daughter's chin and across her throat. In the wake of it, something golden glittered for a moment before Regina felt the weight of it around her neck. Her hand flew up to touch it: a collar. A thin band of gold that hummed beneath her touch with the sort of magic that her mother created so expertly.

"A precaution," Cora told her with a faint smile of satisfaction. "Your powers are magnificent, dearest, but I wouldn't want you to be tempted into using them against me now, would I?"

"You can't do this!" Emma hissed.

Cora threw her head back and let out a peal of delighted laughter. "You foolish girl," she said in an icy tone. "I just **have**."

"I'll stop you," Emma threatened, trying to ignore the pain in her shoulder and the feeling that she was going to pass out any second.

"You're barely conscious, dear," Cora spat. "And it's going to take more than a little bit of fire to stop me, I'm afraid."

She held out her hand, grasping Regina by the wrist and pulling her close. The former Evil Queen made for a pitiful sight, head bowed, a true submissive without magic and the will to with which to wield it. Cora's arm slid possessively around her shoulders and Regina lifted her head, looking at Henry, tears glistening in her eyes.

"I love you, Henry," she whispered, as he struggled in Snow's arms, wanting nothing more than to run to her and keep her with him forever. "You be a good boy now. You're safe."

"Regina, you don't have to do this," Snow said softly. Her eyes were luminous, years of unspent emotion resurfacing and thickening her throat. "You don't have to. Not for us."

Regina smiled sadly, trying to keep her tears at bay for Henry's sake. She drew in a ragged breath and let it out again, nodding to herself. Of them all, Snow understood best what Cora was capable of; of them all, Snow knew what Regina was returning to. So it was with gratitude that she looked at the other woman, avoiding the sight of her son held against his grandmother, cheeks already tear-stained, eyes already red.

"You told me to prove myself to you, Snow," Regina explained. "And now I am. You know why. Why I can't let her – "

She stopped, clamping her lips tight shut in case the tremor in her voice gave way to the sobs that were aching in her throat. Shaking her head, Regina forced her mouth to smile, painting it across her features just like she'd always done. She needed to, as she looked at Emma, at her Savior who was as broken and desperate as she was. More alike than not; more connected than alone. And they would always be so, no matter the distance. Regina repeated her thought silently; she'd need to rely on that, she told herself. For once, she'd need to trust in love, not run from it. Love was pain – she'd learned that a long time ago. But sometimes the pain was a reminder that she could be – had been – loved. So Regina accepted it, even welcomed it.

Emma was crying now, scrubbing at her face with her good hand. "Don't," she said in a fractured tone. "You said you wouldn't leave."

It was an odd thing, Regina thought, that even in her darkest, most hopeless moment, all she wanted to do was offer comfort to Emma. But it was beyond her reach now – beyond her capabilities. She'd failed again. So all she could do was to meet Emma's tearful gaze and hold it, trying to communicate what couldn't be said.

"Well, now that's done, I think we should go home," Cora said smartly, as though she'd just finished a transaction at the village market. Her grip on Regina's shoulder tightened a little and she nodded to George, who smiled widely in anticipation of a war he now had some chance of winning.

"I love you, Regina," Emma said. Charming darted to her side as she slumped against him, exhausted, face white from pain.

Regina blinked away the tears prickling behind her eyes. She'd always wondered how it felt to have a heart torn out, ripped from a chest. Now she knew.

"I know," she replied. "I know."

Beside her, Cora clucked disapprovingly and rolled her eyes. As she lifted her hand, Emma broke free of Charming's embrace and staggered forwards a couple of paces.

"I'll find you," she said, clenching her back teeth together and forcing out the words with some difficulty. "Wherever you are, wherever you go, I'll find you."

Snow and Regina exchanged a look of astonished acknowledgement. Slowly, with a grave expression crossing over her features, Snow nodded, just once. Proof positive. And perhaps, after all the years that had set her and Regina against one another, it really was as simple as that.

"That's a touching sentiment, Savior," Cora smiled, "but unless you want where you stand reduced to rubble around you, I'd suggest you stay as far away as possible."

She looked around the gathered family, even now moving close to one another for what scant comfort they could glean.

"That goes for **all** of you," she said in a loud tone, her voice ringing from the stone walls around the courtyard as she swept her hand in a large arc. "You wanted Regina gone? Well…now she is. Wish granted," she finished in an amused tone before raising her hand once more.

As a purple mist rose around Regina and Cora, Henry called out for his mother and Emma, unable to stand any longer, fell to the cobbles and bowed her head, defeated.


	18. Chapter 18

Part 18

_She wakes suddenly, her eyes flying open to stare upwards as the ceiling over her head comes into focus. She's in her own bed, in the mansion she's come to think of as home. The cotton sheets are soft. Her silk pajamas are softer._

_She frowns, because there's a nagging feeling at the back of her mind that there's something not quite right about this. But the welcome familiarity of the plush pillows beneath her head, the warmth of the room and the settled feeling of being where she belongs pushes away any doubts she might have. For now, at least. But time has become less meaningful than it ever was, drifting away like the dreams she's had of the world she cursed in order to leave it behind._

_Home. Home is where the heart is. There's no place like home. These and a hundred other clichés rush through her waking mind and she understands them now; she knows why they're repeated so often and with such contentment because there's nowhere else she'd rather be than in this bed, this home, this town that she created._

_She remembers the first time she woke here, how a brand new world had greeted her, presenting so many possibilities that her head was spinning by the time she'd explored her new wardrobe and the clothes in it. Welcome to Storybrooke. Welcome to a new life._

_But she'd quickly become bored with its repetitive banality. Controlling everything meant experiencing nothing. Directing the empty puppets she'd conjured up meant that everything they felt and thought was meaningless. _

_She's only ever really found meaning in being a mother. And, she thinks, with a sudden thrill of remembrance, a lover._

_Turning her head, Regina sees yellow spilling out on the pillow beside her own. She hears the half-choked snores of breath caught in Emma's throat and for a second, it might just be the most delightful sound she's ever heard. Ever _wants_ to hear. Beneath the sheets, Emma's body sprawls across the bed and Regina is suddenly aware of an arm across her torso, a hip pressed up against her own. There's a propriety to Emma's embrace, and if Regina belongs in Storybrooke, then Emma does too, as Sheriff, Savior, as a self-inserted member of their community._

_And wherever Emma is, that's where Regina should be, too._

_But still, there's that nagging feeling at the back of her brain that tells her there's something amiss. Because this feeling of contentment, of such simple happiness and inherent peace…it can't last, can it? Happy endings were created for people who deserved them and Regina's never been that, has she? Oh, she might have imagined that she was a long time ago, but since then her heart has rotted almost to dust in her chest. It's only really started to beat again recently; only really started to receive the love it longs for and let that emotion breathe life into something that was very nearly dead._

_She frowns. Outside, the early morning sunshine that had cast a golden sheen across the room begins to fade as gray clouds scurry in front of its gleaming face. They gather like harbingers of doom and Regina cranes her head over Emma's body to peer at the window._

_A storm is coming._

_The figure beside her moves in the bed. Emma blinks sleepily, lifting her head from the pillow and taking her first, long, whistling breath of the day. Regina feels Emma's fingers tighten imperceptibly over her torso and she feels safe, as though they can weather whatever storm is outside their door, moving towards them as the skies darken and rain begins to fall, tapping insistently on the window pane._

_Emma looks at Regina, lips curving in a lazy smile. Then she opens her mouth and, with Cora's voice, says, "Good morning, darling."_

_All the light, color and peace seems to bleed away like oil sliding through water, taking an entire rainbow with it, stealing a kaleidoscope of pigmentation that returns her world to monochrome, and her heart along with it._

_The storm isn't coming. It's already here._

Regina blinked, looking around her and seeing, not the light, airy bedroom she'd fashioned, but the dank, dimly lit cell that her mother had put her in. Around her wrists, manacles tethered her to the stone wall, long enough only for her to lie on the cot in the corner, but not to give her any illusion of freedom.

They jangled as she sat up, staring across the cramped space to where Cora stood on the other side of the bars. Breathing in, Regina couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the stale air down here, filled with the stench of fear and magic that she knew was at her mother's fingertips, always. Storybrooke – Emma – was a dream. A wicked, taunting dream that her subconscious had created to remind her of what she'd lost. Of what would never be. Not anymore.

"I said, good morning, darling," Cora repeated, her eyes glinting in the torches that were the only light; the corners of her mouth twitched slightly in reprove and Regina flinched a little. She'd not only given up her dream; she'd given up any semblance of self and had been reduced to nothing more than her mother's child: something to be dominated.

Regina met Cora's gaze with a slight lift of her chin. It was barely anything at all, but it was enough defiance to harden the planes of Cora's face and she moved closer to the bars.

"There's no point in sulking," she said briskly. "I've done you a favor, taking you away from all that nonsense. You'll soon see I'm right."

"I don't think so, mother," Regina said. Her voice was hoarse from the tears she'd shed in the cold darkness of her cell and she felt them rise again now at the memory of how Henry had cried out for her. But she was damned if she was going to cry in front of her mother. Cora had claimed far too many of her tears already.

"Regina," Cora said, tilting her head to one side and looking at her daughter with amused condescension, "may I remind you that they had you in chains. Chains that you allowed them to put around you like some sort of commonplace miscreant."

"Really?" Regina was aghast, lifting her hands so that the shackles around her wrists clanked, the sound echoing dully from stone walls. "And what is **this**, mother? You put a collar around my neck to stop me using magic and intend to keep me prisoner in your dungeon. How is that any different?"

"Because they did it to punish you," Cora said, shaking her head. "I'm doing it because I love you. They've turned your head and convinced you that what they were offering is what you need. But it isn't." She looked at her daughter with pity and a flush of anger rose on Regina's cheeks. It seemed to please Cora and she smiled quite benevolently as Regina stiffened on the rickety bed in the cell.

"They'll never accept you. Tolerate you, perhaps. And I'm sure that Snow's child can be persuasive enough, not to mention that boy you adopted. But you know that they don't really love you."

Regina moved, standing up and rushing towards the bars. Her face was set in lines of fury, dark shadows glistening in her eyes. But the chains around her wrists only offered a few feet before she was yanked backwards, almost stumbling. She let out a cry of frustration, her ire only fueled by the faint smirk she saw appear on Cora's lips.

"They **do** love me!" Her voice sounded horribly loud in the thick air of the dungeon and Cora appeared unmoved by Regina's desperation, clucking her tongue disapprovingly and shaking her head at her daughter.

"You've always been susceptible to that, haven't you?" Cora said lightly. "I'm sure that when Snow's daughter was professing her love for you in one breath, she was encouraging you to become her magic teacher in the next, hm?"

A smile spread across her lips as she saw how Regina faltered a little, how her breathing hitched and her eyes blinked rapidly in response. It had always been her fatal flaw; always been the one thing she craved more than any other. Love, and the platitudes that came with it: the falsehoods that a lover whispered that were as powerful as any incantation Cora had learned.

"Dearest," Cora continued, her voice soothing in all the wrong ways, a serpentine coil around Regina's heart, "this woman is your **enemy**. The daughter of Snow White. How can you possibly trust her, believe her? After your history with the women in that family, don't you know better by now that they'll only betray you in the end to get what they want?"

Regina swallowed, her dry throat clicking. "It's not…things are different now," she protested weakly, but the idea was there in her head anyway, roiling beneath the fears she'd dared not think about lest they overtake her and ruin everything. It took shape and form despite her intent not to let it do so. As she looked at her mother, Regina couldn't help wondering if Cora could perhaps see things more clearly at a distance than she herself could from up close…so close that it was near enough to be blinded by love.

Clarity had always been a sticking point, blurred by emotion. And in her lust for vengeance, Regina had acted with the sort of hotheaded nature that had often pushed aside rationality. Perhaps, she thought, it was possible that her love for Emma and Henry had done the same thing. _Perhaps_.

"The only thing that's different now is **you**, Regina," Cora said, her voice lilting in reprove. "I can't imagine how much resentment that girl must feel, deep down, knowing that you were the one who kept her from her mother for all those years. The bond between a parent and child, Regina…it's very strong. It's what endures when everything else falls apart. It's why I had to come and find you."

"You took me away from them!" Regina cried. "I was making amends and – and Emma was helping me but you took me away from them before I could – "

Cora waved her hand in the air dismissively and snorted. "Before you could what? Offer yourself up as a sacrifice to appease them? Don't you think that's precisely what they wanted?"

"It doesn't matter what they wanted, mother," Regina shook her head. "It was what **I** wanted."

"You silly girl," Cora admonished, drawing closer to the bars of the cell and curling her fingers around them. "You've never known what you wanted. You were offered power; you were handed greatness and you squandered it to take revenge on a child!" Her eyes were bright, her gaze hard with the remnants of the past and what she'd done – what she'd given up – to create it.

"I did what I had to do!" Regina darted back, eyes widening fearfully as they always had under the stern gaze of her mother. For a moment, she was transported back to those days when Cora had ruled her, when the life she'd hoped and yearned for had been taken away as rudely and harshly as Daniel's heart. "I blamed Snow because it was easier than blaming the person truly responsible. It was easier than tearing out my own heart because the one person who should have protected me and loved me didn't."

Cora blinked, frowning. "Regina, darling," she said slowly. "I've **always** loved you and protected you. I wanted what was best for you. I still do."

"No, mother," Regina shook her head sadly and bit back the sob that rose in her throat. "I used to think that was true – that it was how you showed your love. But Emma and Henry…that's real love. I know that now. You can keep me here in chains forever and I won't – I can't – stop the way I feel about them."

"Yes, you can," Cora replied, her expression stony. "Love is fleeting, Regina. But power…true power lasts forever. And when you've had time to think, time to realize that your place is here with me, you'll forget all about that silly girl and the boy you stole from her."

There was a moment when she looked at her daughter with something like compassion: a glimmer of empathy and sorrow. But, like love, that too was fleeting and it disappeared into the shadows that darkened the stone floor almost immediately. Gathering her skirts, Cora shook her head just once and then turned, leaving the dungeon and her daughter locked inside it.

XxxXxx

The door to Emma's room was flung open with such force that it crashed back against the wall, hinges whining in protest. Snow barely had the opportunity to duck before a metal platter that she'd prepared herself with a selection of cheeses, some meat and bread came flying past her head, clattering against the corridor wall and spinning around a few times before it fell flat onto the ground.

Snow's first instinct was to run. She'd never seen Emma quite so angry, so tortured or so pained by the toll the last few days had taken on her. It had been a strange conflagration of fury and magic that opened the door, Emma's arm thrust out, fingers gleaming with power and her eyes shining with unspent tears. The food had been wrested from Snow's grasp, hurled by magical force and Emma's rage without so much as a word of warning.

Emma was terrifying. She stood in the center of the room, shoulders back, neck elongated and jaw tightening as she looked at her mother. Her fingers were hooked, flickers of magic still leaping from tip to tip. Snow even thought she could see Emma's power, rippling beneath her skin with unmeasured ferocity.

So the temptation to run from it was almost overwhelming. Magic, Snow knew, wasn't good or bad in and of itself. It was imbued with light and dark in the hands of those who wielded it. But Emma's hands were shaking, trembling uncontrollably. It seemed only logical, then, to imagine that the power inside her was uncontrollable, too.

And that was why Snow knew she had to stay.

"Emma," she began, but her daughter pressed her lips together in a firm line and shook her head in a few short, abrupt bursts of movement.

Sighing, Snow turned and closed the heavy door to the room, leaning against it for a few seconds, palm spread out on the aging oak. By the time she looked back at Emma, her daughter was pacing the room, clenching and unclenching her hands, lips moving over words that were inaudible.

"I never did have the opportunity to deal with your tantrums," Snow said slowly. Emma's head jerked up, eyes hooded and dark as she stared back.

"I'm trying to make a joke," Snow continued, attempting a smile.

Emma's scowl broadened, pulling around the edges of her mouth and eyes. She glared at her mother and folded her arms over her chest, unimpressed and distinctly unamused.

"Alright," Snow sighed, wringing her hands together in a manner that was far more reminiscent of Mary Margaret than the queen she'd become once more, "so it wasn't funny. But Emma, please, you have to eat."

She gestured behind her in the general direction of the food that was now scattered in the corridor outside their room. Emma had refused to join them for dinner; their family was fractured and, Snow thought begrudgingly, with Regina gone it was broken in more ways than one. It was only really by her absence that Snow had come to understand that, for better or worse, Regina was a part of the family she'd sought to destroy all those years ago.

"I'm not hungry," Emma growled, even though she was and her stomach gurgled in rumbling protest.

"Honey, please, I know this is hard for you – "

"**Do** you?" Emma turned on Snow, a muscle ticking high up on her cheek, eyes burning. "Do you have **any** idea how it feels to watch someone you love be taken away from you like that?"

A spark of irritation flickered in Snow's eyes and she lifted her chin, meeting Emma's gaze head on. "Actually, yes I do," she said sharply. "I watched George's men take your father from me; I watched as Regina took him from me, too. He and I have been separated so many times that I thought we'd spend the rest of our lives losing one another."

"That's not how it's supposed to work in a fairytale," Emma spat. "It's meant to be happy endings and it's…it's not. All that's happened since we got here is pain and misery and the sort of shit I spent a lifetime running away from."

"Fairytales lie," Snow said gently. "The stories that you grew up reading – the stories that everyone in that other world knows…they're simplified versions of what really happened. Your father and I fought many battles to be together. They all leave scars, one way or another."

Emma's lips curled into a sneer as she turned upon her mother, advancing forwards a few, intimidating paces.

"I'm sick of scars," she hissed, baring her teeth. "I'm sick of losing people I love. I'm sick of everyone going away."

"I know you are," Snow said firmly, "but pushing people away and getting angry isn't going to help."

"It helps **me**," Emma flinched as her mother reached out for her, backing away like a sulky child with a curt, resolute shake of her head.

"And what about Henry? What helps **him**?" Snow asked, brow furrowing. She saw how the mere mention of his name brought consternation flooding over Emma's features; the boy had oscillated wildly between anguish that his mother was gone and frustration that nobody was storming Cora's stronghold to get her back. He'd accused everyone of doing nothing, raging and then crying in Charming's arms as his grandfather attempted to comfort him. Sleep, for Henry, only came after his battered emotions had left him too exhausted to do anything else.

But Emma…Emma hadn't slept. Hadn't rested. Hadn't yet allowed the full extent of her emotions to overwhelm her, and as Snow cocked her head onto one side and gazed sympathetically at her daughter, she could see the dark shadows beneath Emma's eyes, the strain on her face and the agitated, sleep-deprived way her body was restless yet sluggish.

"He needs you, Emma. He needs you to be his mother."

"He already **has** a mother!" Emma threw up her hands and whirled around, storming over to the window. She reached out, laying her palm flat against the cold stone frame, closing her eyes and taking a ragged breath. She might have given birth to Henry, but if she'd learned anything from being with Regina, it was that being a mother had little to do with blood or genetics. Raising a child, nurturing him and caring for him – even in the most mundane of ways – was a skill she had yet to learn. And doing it under these circumstances was damn near impossible.

"She's his mother," Emma said quietly, "and, yeah, so am I but not in the – not in the same way."

"Emma, you don't have to be his mother in the same way," Snow urged, wanting desperately to reach out to her daughter but fearing that Emma would shrink from her again. "Sometimes we have to adjust our ideas of what motherhood is. I know I have."

Letting out a groan of frustration, her fingernails scraping against the stone, Emma clenched her teeth before opening her eyes and staring out resentfully at the kingdom that lay beneath the castle.

"Well, that's just **great**," she forced out. "But this isn't about you and me. In fact, it's not about **you** at all. It's about me, Regina and Henry. It's about **my** family."

She knew it was harsh and could hear Snow's breathing change – a few, quick gasps – as the pointed hurt she'd thrown found its target. But the instinct to apologize was smothered by the pain in her chest and the anger in her gut, rising and falling with every breath she took like some sort of malicious wave of intent that she could no longer hold back.

"When she told me about her mother," Emma began in a low tone, her eyes fixed on a far-off point where the edge of the lake met the rise of the forest, "I could hardly believe it. Because nobody would be that cruel to their own child, right? And then when she was here, when she used her magic on Henry, I knew she was doing it to hurt Regina. It was the only thing that could."

"Cora is a master of manipulation," Snow said quietly, remembering how the woman had coaxed a betrayal out of her under the guise of love. Her mouth turned down in disgust as she recalled Cora's hand on her shoulder, the pleading in the woman's eyes and the words that had convinced her to unfold the secrets of Regina's young heart. "She says that love is weakness and it is. Regina's love for Henry and…and Regina's love for her, too. She used it to her advantage."

"And now she's doing it again."

"Emma, Cora does love Regina, but it's not healthy. It's selfish and hurtful and deceitful. But it's the only kind of love that Regina really knew until…until – "

"Until Henry." Emma's words were staccato, short and sharpened by the understanding of what could change a heart, what could make it beat again after so long being frozen by icy pain and loss.

"Until Henry, yes, and until you. And Cora can see that. It's going to make her desperate to keep Regina away from you and Henry; it's going to make her very dangerous."

Emma turned, fixing her mother with a heavy gaze, full of the anger that now swarmed through her veins, heating her blood to boiling point.

"So you think we should stay away? Let her have Regina, just like that?" It was less of a question and more an accusation and Snow reeled from it, eyes widening, shaking her head.

"No, Emma, I didn't say – "

"Then what **are** you saying? Because so far I've heard nothing that helps. Not one single suggestion that helps **her**." Emma bit at the words and felt the magic searing a line of fire down her spine; she flexed her fingers, wanting nothing more than to punish someone – punish _everyone_ in an effort to expel it from her body and the thought of Regina from her mind. It all just hurt far too much.

"I'm saying that we have a war to fight. And I'm also saying that Cora won't hurt Regina. At least…" Snow paused, wincing over memories that now seemed tainted in the cold light of hindsight. The warmth and love she'd suspected surrounded her as a child faded to a chill that made her shiver a little under Emma's steady gaze.

"At least, what?" Emma demanded.

Snow watched as Emma's jaw clenched and unclenched, as the young woman she'd never watched grow up or learned how to comfort trembled in front of her. But not with fear. No; Emma wasn't afraid of anything anymore. Her magic had made her confident with the belief that she could defeat Cora, George – anyone who stood in her way. And _that_, Snow thought grimly, wouldn't do anyone any favors, particularly when Emma had apparently inherited a rather reckless streak from her parents in the first place.

"Cora loves Regina," Snow said, moving forwards and meeting Emma's eyes. She nodded in emphasis and held out her arms, like a loving parent should, like she'd never been able to for almost three decades. "Rightly or wrongly, she does love her. She wants what's best for her daughter and honestly, I admire the sentiment if not her methods. So she won't hurt Regina. In fact, she's probably safer there than she is here."

"You think so?" Emma's head jerked back on her neck and her nostrils flared as she felt the anger rise, creeping up her throat, thickening her voice. "That woman has done nothing **but** hurt Regina. She forced her to marry your father, if you remember. She killed that boy – that stable boy. Ripped his heart out, right in front of her. That's not love. It's…it's abusive and horrible and wrong. So you can say that Regina will be safe with Cora but the longer she's there, the more she's going to revert back to her old ways because she'll think nobody cares that she's gone."

"Emma, don't…" Snow muttered, uncomfortable. The truth of her young life always had been rather too painful to fully digest, and she couldn't help wondering if she'd vilified Regina in an attempt to assuage her own conscience. But the thing about truth was that it always surfaced somewhere, even if it was almost a lifetime away from what had been said and done.

"Don't what, **mom**?" Emma sneered, seeing the chink in Snow's emotional armor and going in for the kill, lips drawn back from her teeth in some sort of feral posturing. "Don't remind you that this is what everyone wanted in the first place? For her to suffer? Well I guess you'll all be throwing another banquet now, right?"

Throwing out her arms, Emma swaggered forwards a few paces and let out a mirthless, bitter laugh. "Ding dong, the witch is dead. And you know what, the longer she's there with that woman and away from the people who really care about her, she might just as well be."

Emma leaned in towards her mother and lowered her voice to a hissing, threatening tone. "I guess you were right about those fairytales after all. Because you're sure as shit not the Snow White I read about."

Snow's hand moved with lightning speed and made contact with Emma's cheek before either woman really knew what was happening. The sound of the slap ricocheted off the stone walls of the chamber, as loud and startling as a gunshot. There was a brief second of realization, then Emma reeled backwards, clutching her hand to her face.

"Oh my god," Snow whispered, horrified as she stared at her hand before curling it into a fist and plunging it down by the side of her body. "Emma, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – "

"Yeah, you did," Emma darted back, "because when it comes down to it, you don't really want to take any responsibility for what happened to Regina. But this world and what happened to her here…it's on **all** of you. So blame everyone you like, Snow White, but she was little more than a child when she was forced to be your mother and everyone got what they wanted but her."

"Now you listen to me," Snow rose up to her full height, glaring at her daughter and wondering how on earth they'd got to this place when the land she'd longed to return to was supposed to offer her peace, at last. "Regina **chose** to become what she did, Emma. She **chose** to have my father killed; she **chose** to rip her own father's heart out to make the curse that punished me – that punished all of us. She made her own choices, just like we did. And maybe they weren't the right ones but she still chose to do it."

Her voice was coming out in a rush, syllables bouncing and bumping against one another as Emma rubbed slowly at her reddening cheek but said nothing.

"She might have changed, seen the error of her ways and want something better for herself and yes, for you and Henry, too. But have you forgotten what she was like in Storybrooke? How she kept us all prisoner there? How she lied and cheated and stole our lives – stole **your** life? And what about Graham?"

Snow's outburst put lines of doubt across Emma's brow and made her chew at her lower lip, but this was probably long overdue. For all the tact that Snow had tried to maintain when it came to her daughter and the woman who had cursed them, there was no filter now, not when Emma's magic was almost acrid in the air and when Snow's heart was pounding hard against her ribcage.

"She killed people because it suited her to do so, Emma. And when Henry believed in the curse, when he brought you to Storybrooke to save us all, she let everyone think he was crazy. Nobody would be that cruel to their own child, right?" Resting back on her heels, Snow threw Emma's own words back at her and watched them drift down over her daughter, pulling at her shoulders and tugging all sense with it.

"She loves him," Emma bit back.

"And Cora loves her," Snow responded, just as sharply.

They stared at one another for a moment, caught in a standoff from which neither one was willing to secede. Then Snow blinked, drawing in a short breath and shaking her head as though it was possible to cast off the heavy atmosphere that closed around them.

"She hurt Henry, but she never injured him," Snow said slowly. "She loved him in the best way she could until she found a better way. Regina will be safe with Cora."

"Except she really won't," Emma protested. "And if that's what you think, then you really don't know her at all. Or Cora. If you won't help – if you won't help me get her back, then I'll do it alone."

"No, you won't," Snow said firmly, shaking her head and assuming as disapproving a posture as she was able. "Whatever magic you think you have, Cora's is stronger."

She might have said more, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Emma lift her hand at the same time that a band of pressure tightened around her throat, choking her. A strangled sound came from her lips as Emma drew close, curling her fingers around as though she were throttling the life out of Snow with her bare hands. Little lights began to dance through the encroaching darkness in Snow's vision and she scrabbled at her neck with her fingers, but the intangible strength of Emma's magic was overpowering and her nails touched only the strained, taut lines of her own skin.

"I don't **think** I have magic," Emma growled, as Snow's knees began to buckle and she sank slowly to the ground. "I **do** have magic. So don't try to tell me what to do, because you should know I'll do whatever it takes to get her back."

There was a sheen in her eyes that Snow, blurred as her own sense of vision was, terrified that she'd soon be unable to breathe altogether, recognized. It was the same hungry gleam she'd seen in Regina's eyes, when power and will and might were all that mattered. When her heart, aching fit to burst from her chest had compelled Regina to take revenge on the girl she held responsible for everything. That same look was in Emma's gaze now as she leaned over Snow, a proud and bitter smile pulling at her lips.

"Emma," Snow forced out in a strained whisper, "please…stop…"

As the darkness gathered around her peripheral vision and the buzzing in her head increased, Snow held out a hand to Emma, fingertips brushing over her daughter's arm as she slumped to the cold stone floor. But those dancing lights behind her eyes taunted her because all they heralded was a lack of consciousness, a blanket of nothingness slipping around her and pulling her under.

It stopped as suddenly as it had started. There were hands – strong hands – lifting her up until Snow wobbled unsteadily on her feet and swayed against Emma.

"What am I doing?" she heard Emma whisper, her voice appalled, almost terrified. "What the hell am I doing?"

Despite her weakness, Snow knew she had to be strong. Despite Emma's considerable magic, Snow understood the ways in which her daughter was powerless. And even if she'd never guided Emma through her childhood, loved her and nurtured her, Snow was keenly aware of what her child needed now.

She touched Emma again, her palm against her daughter's cheek. But this time it was gentle, a caress that filled the lost years between them with all the love Snow had in her heart and all the pain that yawned wide in Emma's.

"I'm scared. I'm scared for **her**. I'm scared for me without her. And – and Henry…"

Emma's voice trailed off into a sob that she tried to gulp down but failed. By the time tears were spilling from her eyes, Snow had pulled her into an embrace that was as soft and comforting as Emma's cries were hard and jagged.

"I know, honey," Snow soothed, stroking at Emma's hair. "I know. He needs her. And so do you."

"I'm sorry," Emma wailed, burying her face into Snow's shoulder. "I'm sorry about the magic. I don't want to hurt you and I just…I couldn't stop it."

"I know," Snow said again. But the truth was, she really didn't. All she knew was that the darkness she'd seen in Regina all those years ago, the same darkness she saw in Cora – and always had, if she'd been honest enough as a child to realize it – was mirrored in Emma's own eyes. Even if it was a momentary glimpse, even if her daughter was now crying openly in her arms with regret and apology, it had been there, nonetheless. And the only person who seemed to temper those wicked instincts was the very same person who had wielded them with such malicious abandon.

It was a strange notion, that such great power could come from fear. Because Emma was afraid, and in her heart of hearts, Snow knew that Regina had been afraid too. Afraid of never loving again, afraid of losing everything good, afraid of never feeling like she was whole.

But maybe, Snow thought as she held Emma closer and felt her daughter collapse against her, that woman really was gone. And perhaps she'd been replaced, not by the kind hearted, courageous innocent who had saved her from her runaway horse, but by someone new. Someone who understood the sacrifice she'd made when Cora had threatened her family. Because family, Snow knew, was more important than anything. And like it or not, Regina was as much a part of her family as she'd ever been before.

That didn't just count for something. So it was with a somewhat sinking heart that Snow understood precisely what they had to do. Because family counted for _everything_, however it was put together in little, oddly-shaped, unrelated pieces. It was the bigger picture that was important, not how it was formed.

"Mom?"

Snow started at the word. So simple and one that she'd heard countless times before. But hearing it now from Emma, in such a plaintive and trembling tone, was enough to bring tears prickling to her eyes.

"Mom, please help me. Help **us**."

Snow hugged Emma tightly. Because even before the words of acquiescence were out of her mouth, she knew that she would. To reunite what was now her family. To keep them together.


End file.
